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I  OLA  LEROY, 


Shadows  Uplifted. 


BY 


FRANCES   E.  W.  HARPER. 


THIRD  EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES    H.    EARLE,    PUBLISHER, 

178  Washington  Street. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1892, 

By  FRANCES  E.  W.  HARPER, 
In  the  office  01  tne  i_-iDrarian  01  Congress,  at  Washington. 


TO   MY   DAUGHTER 

MARY  E.  HARPER, 

THIS   BOOK    IS   LOVINGLY   DEDICATED. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/iolaleroyorshadoharp 


\ 


INTRODUCTION. 

I  CONFESS  when  I  first  learned  that  Mrs.  Harper  was 
about  to  write  "a  story"  on  some  features  of  the  Anglo- 
African  race,  growing  out  of  what  was  once  popularly 
known  as  the  "peculiar  institution,"  I  had  my  doubts 
about  the  matter.  Indeed  it  was  far  from  being  easy 
for  me  to  think  that  she  was  as  fortunate  as  she  might 
have  been  in  selecting  a  subject  which  would  afford  her 
the  best  opportunity  for  bringing  out  a  work  of  merit 
and  lasting  worth  to  the  race — such  a  work  as  some  of 
her  personal  friends  have  long  desired  to  see  from  her 
graphic  pen.  However,  after  hearing  a  good  portion  of 
the  manuscript  read,  and  a  general  statement  with  regard 
to  the  object  in  view,  I  admit  frankly  that  my  partial 
indifference  was  soon  swept  away;  at  least  I  was  willing 
to  wait  for  further  developments. 

Being  very  desirous  that  one  of  the  race,  so  long  dis- 
tinguished in  the  cause  of  freedom  for  her  intellectual 
worth  as  Mrs.  Harper  has  had  the  honor  of  being,  should 
not  at  this  late  date  in  life  make  a  blunder  which  might 
detract  from  her  own  good  name,  I  naturally  proposed 
to  await  developments  before  deciding  too  quickly  in 
favor  of  giving  encouragement  to  her  contemplated 
effort. 

However,  I  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact  that  she 

had  much  material  in  her  possession  for  a  most  inter- 

'y/J     esting   book   on   the   subject   of   the  condition  of  the 

IS     colored   people   in    the    South.      I    know    of   no   other 

&o     woman,  white  or  colored,  anywhere,  who  has  come  so  in- 

^     timately  in  contact  with  the  colored  people  in  the  South 

IN 


2  INTRODUCTION. 

as  Mrs.  Harper.  Since  emancipation  she  has  labored 
in  every  Southern  State  in  the  Union,  save  two,  Ar- 
kansas and  Texas;  in  the  colleges,  schools,  churches, 
and  the  cabins  not  excepted,  she  has  found  a  vast  field 
and  open  doors  to  teach  and  speak  on  the  themes  of 
education,  temperance,  and  good  home  building,  in- 
dustry, morality,  and  the  like,  and  never  lacked  for 
evidences  of  hearty  appreciation  and  gratitude. 

Everywhere  help  was  needed,  and  her  heart  being 
deeply  absorbed  in  the  cause  she  willingly  allowed  her 
sympathies  to  impel  her  to  perform  most  heroic  services. 

With  her  it  was  no  uncommon  occurrence,  in  visiting 
cities  or  towns,  to  speak  at  two,  three,  and  four  meet- 
ings a  day ;  sometimes  to  promiscuous  audiences  com- 
posed of  everybody  who  would  care  to  come. 

But  the  kind  of  meetings  she  took  greatest  interest  in 
were  meetings  called  exclusively  for  women.  In  this 
attitude  she  could  pour  out  her  sympathies  to  them  as 
she  could  not  do  before  a  mixed  audience ;  and  indeed 
she  felt  their  needs  were  far  more  pressing  than  any 
other  class. 

And  now  I  am  prepared  to  most  fully  indorse  her 
story.  I  doubt  whether  she  could,  if  she  had  tried  ever 
so  much,  have  hit  upon  a  subject  so  well  adapted  to 
reach  a  large  number  of  her  friends  and  the  public  with 
both  entertaining  and  instructive  matter  as  successfully 
as  she  has  done  in  this  volume. 

The  grand  and  ennobling  sentiments  which  have 
characterized  all  her  utterances  in  laboring  for  the  ele- 
vation of  the  oppressed  will  not  be  found  missing  in 
this  book. 

The  previous  books  from  her  pen,  which  have  been 


INTRODUCTION.  3 

so  very  widely  circulated  and  admired,  North  and 
South  —  "forest  Leaves,"  "Miscellaneous  Poems," 
"  Moses,  a  Story  of  the  Nile,"  "  Poems,"  and  "  Sketches 
of  Southern  Life"  (five  in  number) — these,  I  predict, 
will  be  by  far  eclipsed  by  this  last  effort,  which  will,  in 
all  probability,  be  the  crowning  effort  of  her  long  and 
valuable  services  in  the  cause  of  humanity. 

While,  as  indicated,  Mrs.  Harper  has  done  a  large 
amount  of  work  in  the  South,  she  has  at  the  same  time 
done  much  active  service  in  the  temperance  cause  in 
the  North,  as  thousands  of  this  class  can  testify. 

Before  the  war  she  was  engaged  as  a  speaker  by  anti- 
slavery  associations ;  since  then,  by  appointment  of  the 
Women's  Christian  Temperance  Union,  she  has  held 
the  office  of  "Superintendent  of  Colored  Work"  for 
years.  She  has  also  held  the  office  of  one  of  the  Di- 
rectors of  the  Women's  Congress  of  the  United  States. 

Under  the  auspices  of  these  influential,  earnest,  and 
intelligent  associations,  she  has  been  seen  often  on  their 
platforms  with  the  leading  lady  orators  of  the  nation. 

Hence,  being  widely  known  not  only  amongst  her 
own  race  but  likewise  by  the  reformers,  laboring  for 
the  salvation  of  the  intemperate  and  others  equally 
unfortunate,  there  is  little  room  to  doubt  that  the  book 
will  be  in  great  demand  and  will  meet  with  warm  con- 
gratulations from  a  goodly  number  outside  of  the  au- 
thor's social  connections. 

Doubtless  the  thousands  of  colored  Sunday-schools 
in  the  South,  in  casting  about  for  an  interesting,  moral 
story-book,  full  of  practical  lessons,  will  not  be  content 
to  be  without  "Iola  Leroy,  or  Shadows  Uplifted." 

WILLIAM   STILL. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter.  Page. 

I.  The  Mystery  of  Market  Speech  and  Prayer  Meetings  7 

II.  Contraband  of  War 15 

III.  Uncle  Daniel's  Story 24 

IV.  Arrival  of  the  Union  Army 32 

V.  Release  of  Iola  Leroy 37 

VI.  Robert  Johnson's  Promotion  and  Religion    ....  43 

VII.  Tom  Anderson's  Death 50 

VIII.  The  Mystified  Doctor 56 

IX.  Eugene  Leioy  and  Alfred  Lorraine 61 

X.  Shadows  in  the  Home 73 

XI.  The  Plague  and  the  Law 86 

XII.  School-girl  Notions 97 

XIII.  A  Rejected  Suitor 109 

XIV.  Harry  Leroy 120 

XV.  Robert  and  his  Company 129 

XVI.  After  the  Battle 139 

XVII.  Flames  in  the  School-Room 144 

XVIII.  Searching  for  Lost  Ones 148 

XIX.  Striking  Contrasts 164 

XX.  A  Revelation 175 

XXI.  A  Home  for  Mother  . 188 

XXII.  Further  Lifting  of  the  Veil 191 

XXIII.  Delightful  Reunions 198 

XXIV.  Northern  Experience 205 

XXV.  An  Old  Friend 213 

XXVI.  Open  Questions 221 

XXVII.  Diverging  Paths 230 

XXVIII.  Dr.  Latrobe's  Mistake 237 

XXIX.  Visitors  from  the  South 241 

XXX.  Friends  in  Council 246 

XXXI.  Dawning  Affections 262 

XXXII.  Wooing  and  Wedding 267 

XXXIII.  Conclusion 275 

Note 282 

(5) 


CHAPTER   I. 

MYSTERY  OF  MARKET   SPEECH  AND   PRAYER-MEETING. 

"  GOOD  mornin',  Bob;  how's  butter  dis  mornin'?" 

"  Fresh ;  just  as  fresh,  as  fresh  can  be." 

"  Oh,  glory  !  "  said  the  questioner,  whom  we  shall  call 
Thomas  Anderson,  although  he  was  known  among  his 
acquaintances  as  Marster  Anderson's  Tom. 

His  informant  regarding  the  condition  of  the  market 
was  Robert  Johnson,  who  had  been  separated  from  his 
mother  in  his  childhood  and  reared  by  his  mistress  as  a 
favorite  slave.  She  had  fondled  him  as  a  pet  animal, 
and  even  taught  him  to  read.  Notwithstanding  their 
relation  as  mistress  and  slave,  they  had  strong  personal 
likings  for  each  other. 

Tom  Anderson  was  the  servant  of  a  wealthy  planter, 

who  lived  in  the  city  of  C ,  North  Carolina.     This 

planter  was  quite  advanced  in  life,  but  in  his  earlier 
days  he  had  spent  much  of  his  time  in  talking  politics 
in  his  State  and  National  capitals  in  winter,  and  in  visit- 
ing pleasure  resorts  and  watering  places  in  summer. 
His  plantations  were  left  to  the  care  of  overseers  who, 
in  their  turn,  employed  negro  drivers  to  aid  them  in 
the  work  of  cultivation  and  discipline.  But  as  the  in- 
firmities of  age  were  pressing  upon  him  he  had  with- 
drawn from  active  life,  and  given  the  management  of 
his  affairs  into  the  hands  of  his  sons.  As  Robert  John- 
son and  Thomas  Anderson  passed  homeward  from  the 

1(7) 


8  IOLA   LEROY, 

market,  having  bought  provisions  for  their  respective 
homes,  they  seemed  to  be  very  light-hearted  and  care- 
less, chatting  and  joking  with  each  other;  but  every 
now  and  then,  after  looking  furtively  around,  one  would 
drop  into  the  ears  of  the  other  some  news  of  the  battle 
then  raging  between  the  North  and  South  which,  like 
two  great  millstones,  were  grinding  slavery  to  powder. 
As  they  passed  along,  they  were  met  by  another  servant, 
who  said  in  hurried  tones,  but  with  a  glad  accent  in  his 
voice  :■ — 

"  Did  you  see  de  fish  in  de  market  dis  mornin'  ?  Oh, 
but  dey  war  splendid,  jis'  as  fresh,  as  fresh  kin  be." 

"  That's  the  ticket,"  said  Robert,  as  a  broad  smile 
overspread  his  face.     "  I'll  see  you  later." 

"  Good  mornin',  boys,"  said  another  servant  on  his 
way  to  market.     "  How's  eggs  dis  mornin'  ?" 

"  Fust  rate,  fust  rate,"  said  Tom  Anderson.  "  Bob's 
got  it  down  fine." 

"  I  thought  so ;  mighty  long  faces  at  de  pos'-office  dis 
mornin';  but  I'd  better  move  'long,"  and  with  a  bright 
smile  lighting  up  his  face  he  passed  on  with  a  quickened 
tread. 

There  seemed  to  be  an  unusual  interest  manifested 
by  these  men  in  the  state  of  the  produce  market,  and  a 
unanimous  report  of  its  good  condition.  Surely  there 
was  nothing  in  the  primeness  of  the  butter  or  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  eggs  to  change  careless  looking  faces  into 
such  expressions  of  gratification,  or  to  light  dull  eyes 
with  such  gladness.     What  did  it  mean  ? 

During  the  dark  days  of  the  Rebellion,  when  the 
bondman  was  turning  his  eyes  to  the  American  flag, 
and  learning  to  hail  it  as  an  ensign  of  deliverance,  some 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  9 

of  the  shrewder  slaves,  coming  in  contact  with  their  mas- 
ters and  overhearing  their  conversations,  invented  a 
phraseology  t,o  convey  in  the  most  unsuspected  manner 
news  to  each  other  from  the  battle-field.  Fragile  wo- 
men and  helpless  children  were  left  on  the  plantations 
while  their  natural  protectors  were  at  the  front,  and  yet 
these  bondmen  refrained  from  violence.  Freedom  was 
coming  in  the  wake  of  the  Union  army,  and  while  num- 
bers deserted  to  join  their  forces,  others  remained  at 
home,  slept  in  their  cabins  by  night  and  attended  to 
their  work  by  day;  but  under  this  apparently  careless 
exterior  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  thought  which 
escaped  the  cognizance  of  their  masters.  In  convey- 
ing tidings  of  the  war,  if  they  wished  to  announce  a 
victory  of  the  Union  army,  they  said  the  butter  was 
fresh,  or  that  the  fish  and  eggs  were  in  good  condition. 
If  defeat  befell  them,  then  the  butter  and  other  pro- 
duce were  rancid  or  stale. 

Entering  his  home,  Robert  set  his  basket  down.  In 
one  arm  he  held  a  bundle  of  papers  which  he  had  ob- 
tained from  the  train  to  sell  to  the  boarders,  who  were 
all  anxious  to  hear  from  the  seat  of  battle.  He  slipped 
one  copy  out  and,  looking  cautiously  around,  said  to 
Linda,  the  cook,  in  a  low  voice : — 

"  Splendid  news  in  the  papers.  Secesh  routed.  Yan- 
kees whipped  'em  out  of  their  boots.  Papers  full  of  it. 
.  I  tell  you  the  eggs  and  the  butter's  mighty  fresh  this 
morning." 

"  Oh,  sho,  chile,"  said  Linda,  "  I  can't  read  de  news- 
papers, but  ole  Missus'  face  is  newspaper  nufT  for  me.  I 
looks  at  her  ebery  mornin'  wen  she  comes  inter  dis 
kitchen.    Ef  her  face  is  long  an'  she  walks  kine  o'  droopy 


IO  IOLA   LEROY, 

den  I  thinks  things  is  gwine  wrong  for  dem.  But  ef 
she  comes  out  yere  looking  mighty  pleased,  an'  larffin 
all  ober  her  face,  an'  steppin'  so  frisky,  den  I  knows  de 
Secesh  is  gittin'  de  bes'  ob  de  Yankees.  Robby,  honey, 
does  you  really  b'lieve  for  good  and  righty  dat  dem 
Yankees  is  got  horns  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not." 

"Well,  I  yered  so." 

"Well,  you  heard  a  mighty  big  whopper." 

"Anyhow,  Bobby,  things  goes  mighty  contrary  in 
dis  house.  Ole  Miss  is  in  de  parlor  prayin'  for  de  Secesh 
to  gain  de  day,  and  we's  prayin'  in  de  cabins  and  kit- 
chens for  de  Yankees  to  get  de  bes'  ob  it.  But  wasn't 
Miss  Nancy  glad  wen  dem  Yankees  run'd  away  at  Bull's 
Run.  It  was  nuffin  but  Bull's  Run  an'  run  away 
Yankees.  How  she  did  larff  and  skip  'bout  de  house. 
An'  den  me  thinks  to  myself  you'd  better  not  holler 
till  you  gits  out  ob  de  woods.  I  specs  'fore  dem  Yankees 
gits  froo  you'll  be  larffin  tother  side  ob  your  mouf. 
While  you  was  gone  to  market  ole  Miss  com'd  out 
yere,  her  face  looking  as  long  as  my  arm,  tellin'  us  all 
'bout  de  war  and  saying  dem  Yankees  whipped  our 
folks  all  to  pieces.  And  she  was  'fraid  dey'd  all  be 
down  yere  soon.  I  thought  they  couldn't  come  too 
soon  for  we.     But  I  didn't  tell  her  so." 

"  No,  I  don't  expect  you  did." 

"  No,  I  didn't ;  ef  you  buys  me  for  a  fool  you  loses 
your  money  shore.  She  said  when  dey  com'd  down  yere 
she  wanted  all  de  men  to  hide,  for  dey'd  kill  all  de  men, 
but  dey  wouldn't  tech  de  women." 

"  It's  no  such  thing.  She's  put  it  ail  wrong.  Why 
them  Yankees  are  our  best  friends." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  II 

"  Dat's  jis*  what  I  thinks.  Ole  Miss  was  jis'  tryin 
to  skeer  a  body.  An'  when  she  war  done  she  jis'  set 
down  and  sniffled  an'  cried,  an'  I  war  so  glad  I  didn't 
know  what  to  do.  But  I  had  to  hole  in.  An'  I  made 
out  I  war  orful  sorry.  An'  Jinny  said,  'O  Miss  Nancy, 
I  hope  dey  won't  come  yere.'  An'  she  said,  '  I'se  jis' 
'fraid  dey  will  come  down  yere  and  gobble  up  ebery- 
thing  dey  can  lay  dere  hands  on.'  An'  she  jis'  looked  as 
ef  her  heart  war  mos'  broke,  an'  den  she  went  inter  de 
house.  An'  when  she  war  gone,  we  jis'  broke  loose. 
Jake  turned  somersets,  and  said  he  warnt  'fraid  ob 
dem  Yankees;  he  know'd  which  side  his  brad  was 
buttered  on.  Dat  Jake  is  a  cuter.  When  he  goes 
down  ter  git  de  letters  he  cuts  up  all  kines  ob  shines 
and  capers.  An'  to  look  at  him  skylarking  dere  while 
de  folks  is  waitin'  for  dere  letters,  an'  talkin'  bout  de  war, 
yer  wouldn't  think  dat  boy  had  a  thimbleful  of  sense. 
But  Jake's  listenin'  all  de  time  wid  his  eyes  and  his 
mouf  wide  open,  an'  ketchin'  eberything  he  kin,  an'  a 
heap  ob  news  he  gits  dat  way.  As  to  Jinny,  she  jis' 
capered  and  danced  all  ober  de  flore.  An'  I  jis'  had  to 
put  my  han'  ober  her  mouf  to  keep  ole  Miss  from  yere- 
ing  her.  Oh,  but  we  did  hab  a  good  time.  Boy,  yer 
oughter  been  yere. " 

"  And,  Aunt  Linda,  what  did  you  do  ?  " 
"  Oh,  honey,  I  war  jis'  ready  to  crack  my  sides  larffin, 
jis'  to  see  what  a  long  face  Jinny  puts  on  wen  ole  Miss 
is  talkin',  an'  den  to  see  dat  face  wen  missus'  back  is 
turned,  why  it's  good  as  a  circus.  It's  nuff  to  make 
a  horse  larff." 

"  Why,  Aunt  Linda,  you  never  saw  a  circus  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I'se  hearn  tell  ob  dem,  and  I  thinks  dey 


12  IOLA  LEROY, 

mus'  be  mighty  funny.  An'  I  know  it's  orful  funny  to 
see  how  straight  Jinny's  face  looks  wen  she's  almos' 
ready  to  bust,  while  ole  Miss  is  frettin'  and  fumin'  'bout 
dem  Yankees  an'  de  war.  But,  somehow,  Robby,  I 
ralely  b'lieves  dat  we  cullud  folks  is  mixed  up  in  dis 
fight.  I  seed  it  all  in  a  vision.  An'  soon  as  dey  fired 
on  dat  fort,  Uncle  Dan'el  says  to  me :  '  Linda,  we's 
gwine  to  git  our  freedom.'  An'  I  says:  'Wat  makes  you 
think  so  ?"  An'  he  says  :  '  Dey've  fired  on  Fort  Sumter, 
an'  de  Norf  is  boun'  to  whip.'  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Robert.     "  I  think  that  we  have  a 
heap  of  friends  up  there." 

"Well,  I'm  jis'  gwine  to  keep  on  prayin'  an'  b'lievin'." 
Just  then  the  bell  rang,  and  Robert,  answering,  found 
Mrs.  Johnson  suffering  from  a  severe  headache,  which 
he  thought  was  occasioned  by  her  worrying  over  the  late 
defeat  of  the  Confederates.  She  sent  him  on  an  errand, 
which  he  executed  with  his  usual  dispatch,  and  returned 
to  some  work  which  he  had  to  do  in  the  kitchen. 
Robert  was  quite  a  favorite  with  Aunt  Linda,  and  they 
often  had  confidential  chats  together. 

"  Bobby,"  she  said,  when  he  returned,  "  I  thinks  we 
ort  ter  hab  a  prayer-meetin'  putty  soon." 

"  I  am  in  for  that.  Where  will  you  have  it  ?  " 
"  Lem  me  see.  Las'  Sunday  we  had  it  in  Gibson's 
woods;  Sunday  'fore  las',  in  de  old  cypress  swamp;  an' 
nex'  Sunday  we'el  hab  one  in  McCullough's  woods. 
Las'  Sunday  we  had  a  good  time.  I  war  jis'  chock  full 
an'  runnin'  ober.  Aunt  Milly's  daughter's  bin  monin  all 
summer,  an'  she's  jis'  come  throo.  We  had  a  powerful 
time.  Eberythin'  on  dat  groun'  was  jis'  alive.  I  tell 
yer,  dere  was  a  shout  in  de  camp." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 3 

"Well,  you  had  better  look  out,  and  not  shout  too 
much,  and  pray  and  sing  too  loud,  because,  'fore  you 
know,  the  patrollers  will  be  on  your  track  and  break  up 
your  meetin'  in  a  mighty  big  hurry,  before  you  can  say 
'Jack  Robinson.' " 

"  Oh,  we  looks  out  for  dat.  We's  got  a  nice  big  pot, 
dat  got  cracked  las'  winter,  but  it  will  hole  a  lot  o'  water, 
an'  we  puts  it  whar  we  can  tell  it  eberything.  We  has 
our  own  good  times.  An'  I  want  you  to  come  Sunday 
night  an'  tell  all  'bout  the  good  eggs,  fish,  and  butter. 
Mark  my  words,  Bobby,  we's  all  gwine  to  git  free.  I 
seed  it  all  in  a  vision,  as  plain  as  de  nose  on  yer  face." 

"Well,  I  hope  your  vision  will  come  out  all  right,  and 
that  the  eggs  will  keep  and  the  butter  be  fresh  till  we 
have  our  next  meetin'." 

"  Now,  Bob,  you  sen'  word  to  Uncle  Dan'el,  Tom 
Anderson,  an'  de  rest  ob  dem,  to  come  to  McCullough's 
woods  nex'  Sunday  night.  I  want  to  hab  a  sin-killin' 
an'  debil-dribin'  time.  But,  boy,  you'd  better  git  out 
er  yere.     Ole  Miss'll  be  down  on  yer  like  a  scratch  cat." 

Although  the  slaves  were  denied  unrestricted  travel, 
and  the  holding  of  meetings  without  the  surveillance  of 
a  white  man,  yet  they  contrived  to  meet  by  stealth  and 
hold  gatherings  where  they  could  mingle  their  prayers 
and  tears,  and  lay  plans  for  escaping  to  the  Union  army. 
Outwitting  the  vigilance  of  the  patrollers  and  home 
guards,  they  established  these  meetings  miles  apart,  ex- 
tending into  several  States. 

Sometimes  their  hope  of  deliverance  was  cruelly 
blighted  by  hearing  of  some  adventurous  soul  who, 
having  escaped  to  the  Union  army,  had  been  pursued 
and  returned  again  to  bondage.     Yet  hope  survived  all 


14  IOLA   LEROY, 

these  disasters  which  gathered  around  the  fate  of  their 
unfortunate  brethren,  who  were  remanded  to  slavery 
through  the  undiscerning  folly  of  those  who  were 
strengthening  the  hands  which  were  dealing  their 
deadliest  blows  at  the  heart  of  the  Nation.  But  slavery 
had  cast  such  a  glamour  over  the  Nation,  and  so  warped 
the  consciences  of  men,  that  they  failed  to  read  aright 
the  legible  transcript  of  Divine  retribution  which  was 
written  upon  the  shuddering  earth,  where  the  blood  of 
God's  poor  children  had  been  as  water  freely  spilled. 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  I  5 

i 

CHAPTER  II. 

CONTRABAND    OF    WAR. 

A  FEW  evenings  after  this  conversation  between 
Robert  and  Linda,  a  prayer-meeting  was  held.  Un- 
der the  cover  of  night  a  few  dusky  figures  met  by 
stealth  in  McCullough's  woods. 

"  Howdy,"  said  Robert,  approaching  Uncle  Daniel, 
the  leader  of  the  prayer-meeting,  who  had  preceded 
him  but  a  few  minutes. 

"  Thanks  and  praise ;  Fse  all  right.  How  is  you, 
chile  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  said  Robert,  smiling,  and  grasp- 
ing Uncle  Daniel's  hand. 

"  What's  de  news  ?  "  exclaimed  several,  as  they  turned 
their  faces  eagerly  towards  Robert. 

"  I  hear,"  said  Robert,  "  that  they  are  done  sending 
the  runaways  back  to  their  masters." 

"  Is  dat  so  ? "  said  a  half  dozen  earnest  voices. 
"How  did  you  yere  it?" 

"  I  read  it  in  the  papers.  And  Tom  told  me  he  heard 
them  talking  about  it  last  night,  at  his  house.  How  did 
you  hear  it,  Tom  ?     Come,  tell  us  all  about  it." 

Tom  Anderson  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said : — 

"  Now,  boys,  I'll  tell  you  all  'bout  it.  But  you's  got 
to  be  mighty  mum  'bout  it.  It  won't  do  to  let  de  cat 
outer  de  bag." 

"  Dat's  so !  But  tell  us  wat  you  yered.  We  ain't 
gwine  to  say  nuffin  to  nobody." 


1 6  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  "  las'  night  ole  Marster  had  com- 
pany. Two  big  ginerals,  and  dey  was  hoppin'  mad. 
One  ob  dem  looked  like  a  turkey  gobbler,  his  face  war 
so  red.  An'  he  sed  one  ob  dem  Yankee  ginerals,  I 
thinks  dey  called  him  Beas'  Butler,  sed  dat  de  slaves 
dat  runned  away  war  some  big  name — I  don't  know 
what  he  called  it.  But  it  meant  dat  all  ob  we  who 
com'd  to  de  Yankees  should  be  free." 

"  Contraband  of  war,"  said  Robert,  who  enjoyed  the 
distinction  of  being  a  good  reader,  and  was  pretty  well 
posted  about  the  war.  Mrs.  Johnson  had  taught  him 
to  read  on  the  same  principle  she  would  have  taught 
a  pet  animal  amusing  tricks.  She  had  never  imagined 
the  time  would  come  when  he  would  use  the  machinery 
she  had  put  in  his  hands  to  help  overthrow  the  institu- 
tion to  which  she  was  so  ardently  attached. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?     Is  it  somethin'  good  for  us  ?" 

"  I  think,"  said  Robert,  a  little  vain  of  his  superior 
knowledge,  "  it  is  the  best  kind  of  good.  It  means  if 
two  armies  are  fighting  and  the  horses  of  one  run  away, 
the  other  has  a  right  to  take  them.  And  it  is  just  the 
same  if  a  slave  runs  away  from  the  Secesh  to  the  Union 
lines.  He  is  called  a  contraband,  just  the  same  as  if  he 
were  an  ox  or  a  horse.  They  wouldn't  send  the  horses 
back,  and  they  won't  send  us  back." 

"Is  dat  so?"  said  Uncle  Daniel,  a  dear  old  father, 
with  a  look  of  saintly  patience  on  his  face.  "Well, 
chillen,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?" 

"  Go,  jis'  as  soon  as  we  kin  git  to  de  army,"  said  Tom 
Anderson. 

"  What  else  did  the  generals  say?  And  how  did  you 
come  to  hear  them,  Tom  ?  "  asked  Robert  Johnson. 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 7 

"  Well,  yer  see,  Marster's  too  ole  and  feeble  to  go  to 
de  war,  but  his'  heart's  in  it.  An'  it  makes  him  feel 
good  all  ober  when  dem  big  ginerals  comes  an'  tells  him 
all  'bout  it.  Well,  I  war  laying  out  on  de  porch  fas' 
asleep  an'  snorin'  drefful  hard.  Oh,  I  war  so  soun' 
asleep  dat  wen  Marster  wanted  some  ice-water  he  had  to 
shake  me  drefful  hard  to  wake  me  up.  An'  all  de  time 
I  war  wide  'wake  as  he  war." 

"  What  did  they  say  ? "  asked  Robert,  who  was  al- 
ways on  the  lookout  for  news  from  the  battle-field. 

"  One  ob  dem  said,  dem  Yankees  war  talkin'  of  put- 
tin'  guns  in  our  han's  and  settin'  us  all  free.  An'  de 
oder  said,  'Oh,  sho!  ef  dey  puts  guns  in  dere  hands 
dey'll  soon  be  in  our'n ;  and  ef  dey  sets  em  free  dey 
wouldn't  know  how  to  take  keer  ob  demselves.' " 

"  Only  let  'em  try  it,"  chorused  a  half  dozen  voices, 
"  an '  dey'll  soon  see  who'll  git  de  bes'  ob  de  guns ;  an'  as 
to  taking  keer  ob  ourselves,  I  specs  we  kin  take  keer  ob 
ourselves  as  well  as  take  keer  ob  dem." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom,  "who  plants  de  cotton  and  raises  all 
de  crops  ?  " 

"  '  They  eat  the  meat  and  give  us  the  bones, 
Eat  the  cherries  and  give  us  the  stones,' 

And  I'm  getting  tired  of  the  whole  business,"  said 
Robert. 

"But,  Bob,"  said  Uncle  Daniel,  "you've  got  a  good 
owner.  You  don't  hab  to  run  away  from  bad  times 
and  wuss  a  comin'." 

"  It  isn't  so  good,  but  it  might  be  better.  I  ain't 
got  nothing  'gainst  my  ole  Miss,  except  she  sold  my 
mother  from  me.     And  a  boy  ain't  nothin'  without  his 


1 8  IOLA   LEROY, 

mother.  I  forgive  her,  but  I  never  forget  het-,  and  never 
expect  to.  But  if  she  were  the  best  woman  on  earth  I 
would  rather  have  my  freedom  than  belong  to  her. 
Well,  boys,  here's  a  chance  for  us  just  as  soon  as  the 
Union  army  gets  in  sight.     What  will  you  do  ?" 

"  Pse  a  goin,"  said  Tom  Anderson,  "jis'  as  soon  as 
dem  Linkum  soldiers  gits  in  sight." 

"  An'  I'se  a  gwine  wid  you,  Tom,"  said  another.  "  I 
specs  my  ole  Marster'll  feel  right  smart  lonesome  when 
I'se  gone,  but  I  don't  keer  'bout  stayin'  for  company's 
sake." 

"  My  ole  Marster's  room's  a  heap  better'n  his  com- 
pany," said  Tom  Anderson,  "  an'  I'se  a  goner  too. 
Dis  yer  freedom's  too  good  to  be  lef  behind,  wen 
you's  got  a  chance  to  git  it.  I  won't  stop  to  bid  ole 
Marse  good  bye." 

"  What  do  you  think,"  said  Robert,  turning  to  Uncle 
Daniel;  "won't  you  go  with  us  ?" 

"No,  chillen,  I  don't  blame  you  for  gwine;  but  I'se 
gwine  to  stay.  Slavery's  done  got  all  de  marrow  out  ob 
dese  poor  ole  bones.  Ef  freedom  comes  it  won't  do  me 
much  good ;  we  ole  one's  will  die  out,  but  it  will  set  you 
youngsters  all  up." 

"  But,  Uncle  Daniel,  you're  not  too  old  to  want  your 
freedom  ?  " 

"  I  knows  dat.  I  lubs  de  bery  name  of  freedom. 
I'se  been  praying  and  hoping  for  it  dese  many  years. 
An'  ef  I  warn't  boun',  I  would  go  wid  you  ter-morrer. 
I  won't  put  a  straw  in  your  way.  You  boys  go,  and  my 
prayers  will  go  wid  you.  I  can't  go,  it's  no  use.  I'se 
gwine  to  stay  on  de  ole  place  till  Marse  Robert  comes 
back,  or  is  brought  back." 


OR   SHADOWS    UPI.TFTED.  I9 

"But,  Uncle  Paniel,"  said  Robert,  "what's  the  use  of 
praying  for  a  thing  if,  when  it  comes,  you  won't  take  it  ? 
As  much  as  you  have  been  praying  and  talking  about 
freedom,  I  thought  that  when  the  chance  came  you 
would  have  been  one  of  the  first  to  take  it.  Now, 
do  tell  us  why  you  won't  go  with  us.  Ain't  you  will- 
ing?" 

"Why,  Robbie,  my  whole  heart  is  wid  you.  But 
when  Marse  Robert  went  to  de  war,  he  called  me  into 
his  room  and  said  to  me,  *  Uncle  Dan'el,  I'se  gwine  to 
de  war,  an'  I  want  you  to  look  arter  my  wife  an'  chillen, 
an'  see  dat  eberything  goes  right  on  de  place.  An'  I 
promised  him  I'd  do  it,  an'  I  mus'  be  as  good  as  my 
word.  'Cept  de  overseer,  dere  isn't  a  white  man  on  de 
plantation,  an'  I  hear  he  has  to  report  ter-morrer  or  be 
treated  as  a  deserter.  An'  der's  nobody  here  to  look 
arter  Miss  Mary  an'  de  chillen,  but  myself,  an'  to  see 
dat  eberything  goes  right.  I  promised  Marse  Robert 
I  would  do   it,  an'  I  mus'  be  as   good  as  my  word." 

"  Well,  what  should  you  keer  ?  "  said  Tom  Anderson. 
"  Who  looked  arter  you  when  you  war  sole  from  your 
farder  and  mudder,  an'  neber  seed  dem  any  more,  and 
wouldn't  know  dem  to-day  ef  you  met  dem  in  your 
dish?" 

"Well,  dats  neither  yere  nor  dere.  Marse  Robert 
couldn't  help  what  his  father  did.  He  war  an  orful 
mean  man.  But  he's  dead  now,  and  gone  to  see  'bout 
it.  But  his  wife  war  the  nicest,  sweetest  lady  dat  eber 
I  did  see.  She  war  no  more  like  him  dan  chalk's  like 
cheese.  She  used  to  visit  de  cabins,  an'  listen  to  de 
pore  women  when  de  overseer  used  to  cruelize  dem  so 
bad,  anJ  drive  dem  to  work  late  and  early.     An'  she 


20  IOLA   LEROY, 

used  to  sen'  dem  nice  things  when  they  war  sick,  and 
hab  der  cabins  whitewashed  an'  lookin'  like  new  pins, 
an'  look  arter  dere  chillen.  Sometimes  she'd  try  to 
git  ole  Marse  to  take  dere  part  when  de  oberseer  got 
too  mean.  But  she  might  as  well  a  sung  hymns  to  a 
dead  horse.  All  her  putty  talk  war  like  porin  water 
on  a  goose's  back.  He'd  jis'  bluff  her  off,  an'  tell  her 
she  didn't  run  dat  plantation,  and  not  for  her  to  bring 
him  any  nigger  news.  I  never  thought  ole  Marster  war 
good  to  her.  I  often  ketched  her  crying,  an'  she'd 
say  she  had  de  headache,  but  I  thought  it  war  de 
heartache.  'Fore  ole  Marster  died,  she  got  so  thin  an' 
peaked  I  war  'fraid  she  war  gwine  to  die ;  but  she  seed 
him  out.  He  war  killed  by  a  tree  fallin'  on  him,  an'  ef 
eber  de  debil  got  his  own  he  got  him.  I  seed  him  in  a 
vision  arter  he  war  gone.  He  war  hangin'  up  in  a  pit, 
sayin'  'Oh!  oh!'  wid  no  close  on.  He  war  allers 
blusterin',  cussin',  and  swearin'  at  somebody.  Marse 
Robert  ain't  a  bit  like  him.  He  takes  right  arter  his 
mother.  Bad  as  ole  Marster  war,I  think  she  jis'  lob'd 
de  groun'  he  walked  on.  Well,  women's  mighty  curious 
kind  of  folks  anyhow.  I  sometimes  thinks  de  wuss 
you  treats  dem  de  better  dey  likes  you." 

"Well,"  said  Tom,  a  little  impatiently,  "what's  yer 
gwine  to  do?  Is  yer  gwine  wid  us,  ef  yer  gits  a 
chance  ? '' 

"  Now,  jes'  you  hole  on  till  I  gits  a  chance  to  tell  yer 
why  I'se  gwine  to  stay." 

"Well,  Uncle  Daniel,  let's  hear  it,"  said  Robert. 

"  I  was  jes'  gwine  to  tell  yer  when  Tom  put  me  out. 
Ole  Marster  died  when  Marse  Robert  war  two  years 
ole.  and  his  pore  mother  when  he  war  four.     When  he 


OR  SHADOWS  UPLIFTED.  21 

died,  Miss  Anna  used  to  keep  me  'bout  her  jes'  like  I 
war  her  shadder.  I  used  to  nuss  Marse  Robert  jes'  de 
same  as  ef  I  were  his  own  fadder.  I  used  to  fix  his 
milk,  rock  him  to  sleep,  ride  him  on  my  back,  an' 
nothin'  pleased  him  better'n  fer  Uncle  Dan'el  to  ride 
him  piggy-back." 

"  Well,  Uncle  Daniel,"  said  Robert,  "  what  has  that 
got  to  do  with  your  going  with  us  and  getting  your 
freedom  ?  " 

"  Now,  jes'  wait  a  bit,  and  don't  frustrate  my  mine. 
I  seed  day  arter  day  Miss  Anna  war  gettin'  weaker  and 
thinner,  an'  she  looked  so  sweet  and  talked  so  putty,  I 
thinks  to  myself,  'you  ain't  long  for  dis  worl'.'  And 
she  said  to  me  one  day,  '  Uncle  Dan'el,  when  I'se  gone, 
I  want  you  to  be  good  to  your  Marster  Robert.'  An' 
she  looked  so  pale  and  weak  I  war  almost  ready  to  cry. 
I  couldn't  help  it.  She  hed  allers  bin  mighty  good 
to  me.  An'  I  beliebs  in  praisin'  de  bridge  dat  carries 
me  ober.  She  said,  '  Uncle  Dan'el,  I  wish  you  war 
free.  Ef  I  had  my  way  you  shouldn't  serve  any  one 
when  I'm  gone ;  but  Mr.  Thurston  had  eberything  in 
his  power  when  he  made  his  will.  I  war  tied  hand  and 
foot,  and  I  couldn't  help  it.'  In  a  little  while  she  war 
gone — jis'  faded  away  like  a  flower.  I  belieb  ef  dere's 
a  saint  in  glory,  Miss  Anna's  dere." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  take  much  stock  in  white  folks'  religion," 
said  Robert,  laughing  carelessly. 

"  The  way,"  said  Tom  Anderson,  "  dat  some  of  dese 
folks  cut  their  cards  yere,  I  think  dey'll  be  as  sceece  in 
hebben  as  hen's  teeth.  I  think  wen  some  of  dem  preach- 
ers brings  de  Bible  'round  an'  tells  us  'bout  mindin 
our  marsters  and  not  stealin'  dere  tings,  dat  dey  preach 


22  IOLA  LEROY, 

to  please  de  white  folks,  an*  dey  frows  coleness  ober  de 
meetin'." 

"An'  I,"  said  Aunt  Linda,  "  neber  did  belieb  in  dem 
Bible  preachers.  I  yered  one  ob  dem  sayin'  wen  he  war 
dyin',  it  war  all  dark  wid  him.  An'  de  way  he  treated 
his  house-girl,  pore  thing,  I  don't  wonder  dat  it  war  dark 
wid  him." 

"O,  I  guess,"  said  Robert,  "that  the  Bible  is  all  right, 
but  some  of  these  church  folks  don't  get  the  right  hang 
of  it." 

"  May  be  dat's  so,"  said  Aunt  Linda.  "  But  I  allers 
wanted  to  learn  how  to  read.  I  once  had  a  book,  and 
tried  to  make  out  what  war  in  it,  but  ebery  time  my 
mistus  caught  me  wid  a  book  in  my  hand,  she  used  to 
whip  my  fingers.  An'  I  couldn't  see  ef  it  war  good  for 
white  folks,  why  it  warn't  good  for  cullud  folks." 

"  Well,"  said  Tom  Anderson,  "  I  belieb  in  de  good  ole- 
time  religion.  But  arter  dese  white  folks  is  done  fussin' 
and  beatin'  de  cullud  folks,  I  don't  want  'em  to  come 
talking  religion  to  me.  We  used  to  hab  on  our  place 
a  real  Guinea  man,  an'  once  he  made  ole  Marse  mad, 
an'  he  had  him  whipped.  Old  Marse  war  trying  to 
break  him  in,  but  dat  fellow  war  spunk  to  de  backbone, 
an'  when  he  'gin  talkin'  to  him  'bout  savin'  his  soul 
an'  gittin'  to  hebbin,  he  tole  him  ef  he  went  to  hebbin 
an'  foun'  he  war  dare,  he  wouldn't  go  in.  He  wouldn't 
stay  wid  any  such  rascal  as  he  war." 

"What  became  of  him  ?"  asked  Robert. 

"  Oh,  he  died.  But  he  had  some  quare  notions  T^out 
religion.  He  thought  dat  when  he  died  he  would  go  back 
to  his  ole  country.     He  allers  kep'  his  ole  Guinea  name." 

"What  was  it?" 


OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED  23 

"  Potobombra.  Do  you  know  what  he  wanted  Mars- 
ter  to  do  'fore  he  died?"  continued  Anderson. 

"No." 

"He  wanted  him  to  gib  him  his  free  papers." 

"Did  he  do  it?" 

"Ob  course  he  did.  As  de  poor  fellow  war  dying  an' 
he  couldn't  sell  him  in  de  oder  world,  he  jis*  wrote  him 
de  papers  to  yumor  him.  He  didn't  want  to  go  back 
to  Africa  a  slave.  He  thought  if  he  did,  his  people 
would  look  down  on  him,  an'  he  wanted  to  go  back  a 
free  man.  He  war  orful  weak  when  Marster  brought 
him  de  free  papers.  He  jis'  ris  up  in  de  bed,  clutched 
dem  in  his  han's,  smiled,  an'  gasped  out,  'I'se  free  at 
las';  an'  fell  back  on  de  pillar,  an'  he  war  gone.  Oh,  but 
he  war  spunky.  De  oberseers,  arter  dey  foun'  out  who  he 
war,  gin'rally  gabe  him  a  wide  birth.  I  specs  his  father 
war  some  ole  Guinea  king." 

"Well,  chillen,"  said  Uncle  Daniel,  "we's  kept  up  dis 
meeting  long  enough.  We'd  better  go  home,  and  not 
all  go  one  way,  cause  de  patrollers  might  git  us  all  inter 
trouble,  an'  we  must  try  to  slip  home  by  hook  or  crook." 

"An'  when  we  meet  again,  Uncle  Daniel  can  finish  his 
story,  an'  be  ready  to  go  with  us,"  said  Robert. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Tom  Anderson,  "  he  would  go  wid  us, 
de  wuss  kind." 


24  IOLA   LEROY, 

CHAPTER   III. 

UNCLE   DANIEL'S   STORY. 

The  Union  had  snapped  asunder  because  it  lacked  the 
cohesion  of  justice,  and  the  Nation  was  destined  to  pass 
through  the  crucible  of  disaster  and  defeat,  till  she  was 
ready  to  clasp  hands  with  the  negro  and  march  abreast 
with  him  to  freedom  and  victory. 

The  Union  army  was    encamping  a  few  miles  from 

C ,  in  North  Carolina.     Robert,  being  well  posted 

on  the  condition  of  affairs,  had  stealthily  contrived  to 
call  a  meeting  in  Uncle  Daniel's  cabin.  Uncle  Daniel's 
wife  had  gone  to  bed  as  a  sick  sister,  and  they  held  a 
prayer-meeting  by  her  bedside.  It  was  a  little  risky,  but 
as  Mr.  Thurston  did  not  encourage  the  visits  of  the 
patrollers,  and  heartily  detested  having  them  prying  into 
his  cabins,  there  was  not  much  danger  of  molestation. 

"Well,  Uncle  Daniel,  we  want  to  hear  your  story,  and 
see  if  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  go  with  us,"  said 
Robert,  after  he  had  been  seated  a  few  minutes  in  Uncle 
Daniel's  cabin. 

"  No,  chillen,  I've  no  objection  to  fmishin'  my  story, 
but  I  ain't  made  up  my  mind  to  leave  the  place  till 
Marse  Robert  gits  back." 

"  You  were  telling  us  about  Marse  Robert's  mother. 
How  did  you  get  along  after  she  died  ?" 

"  Arter  she  war  gone,  ole  Marster's  folks  come  to  look 
arter  things.  But  eberything  war  lef  to  Marse  Robert, 
an'  he  wouldn't  do  widout  me.     Dat   chile  war  allers 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  25 

at  my  heels.  I  couldn't  stir  widout  him,  an'  when  he 
missed  me,  he'd  fret  an'  cry  so  I  had  ter  stay  wid 
him ;  an'  wen  he  went  to  school,  I  had  ter  carry  him  in 
de  mornin'  and  bring  him  home  in  de  ebenin'.  An'  I 
learned  him  to  hunt  squirrels,  an'  rabbits,  an'  ketch  fish, 
an'  set  traps  for  birds.  I  beliebs  he  lob'd  me  better  dan 
any  ob  his  kin'      An'  he  showed  me  how  to  read." 

"Well,"  said  Tom,  "ef  he  lob'd  you  so  much,  why 
didn't  he  set  you  free  ?  " 

"  Marse  Robert  tole  me,  ef  he  died  fust  he  war  gwine 
ter  leave  me  free — dat  I  should  neber  sarve  any  one  else." 

"  Oh,  sho ! "  said  Tom,  "  promises,  like  pie  crusts,  is 
made  to  be  broken.  I  don't  trust  none  ob  dem.  I'se 
been  yere  dese  fifteen  years,  an'  I'se  neber  foun'  any 
troof  in  dem.  An'  I'se  gwine  wid  dem  North  men 
soon's  I  gits  a  chance.  An'  ef  you  knowed  what's  good 
fer  you,  you'd  go,  too." 

"  No,  Tom ;  I  can't  go.  When  Marster  Robert  went 
to  de  front,  he  called  me  to  him  an'  said  :  '  Uncle  Daniel,' 
an'  he  was  drefful  pale  when  he  said  it,  '  I  are  gwine  to 
de  war,  an'  I  want  yer  to  take  keer  of  my  wife  an' 
chillen,  jis'  like  yer  used  to  take  keer  of  me  wen  yer 
called  me  your  little  boy.'  Well,  dat  jis'  got  to  me, 
an'  I  couldn't  help  cryin',  to  save  my  life." 

"  I  specs,"  said  Tom,  "your  tear  bags  must  lie  mighty 
close  to  your  eyes.  I  wouldn't  cry  ef  dem  Yankees 
would  make  ebery  one  ob  dem  go  to  de  front,  an'  stay 
dere  foreber.  Dey'd  only  be  gittin'  back  what  dey's 
been  a  doin'  to  us." 

"  Marster  Robert  war  nebber  bad  to  me.  An'  I  beliebs 
in  stannin'  by  dem  dat  stans  by  you.  Arter  Miss  Anna 
died,   I  had  great  'sponsibilities  on  my  shoulders;  but 


26  IOLA  LEROY, 

I  war  orful  lonesome,  an'  thought  I'd  like  to  git  a 
wife.  But  dere  warn't  a  gal  on  de  plantation,  an'  no- 
where's  roun',  dat  filled  de  bill.  So  I  jis'  waited,  an' 
'tended  to  Marse  Robert  till  he  war  ole  'nough  to  go  to 
college.  Wen  he  went,  he  allers  'membered  me  in  de 
letters  he  used  to  write  his  grandma.  Wen  he  war 
gone,  I  war  lonesomer  dan  eber.  But,  one  day,  I  jis'' 
seed  de  gal  dat  took  de  rag  off  de  bush.  Gundover  had 
jis'  brought  her  from  de  up-country.  She  war  putty 
as  a  picture!  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  fondly  at  his  wife, 
who  still  bore  traces  of  great  beauty.  "  She  had  putty 
hair,  putty  eyes,  putty  mouth.  She  war  putty  all  over; 
an'  she  know'd  how  to  put  on  style." 

"  O,  Daniel,"  said  Aunt  Katie,  half  chidingly,  "  how 
you  do  talk." 

"  Why,  it's  true.  I  'member  when  you  war  de  putti- 
est  gal  in  dese  diggins ;  when  nobody  could  top  your 
cotton." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Aunt  Katie. 

"Well,  I  do.  Now,  let  me  go  on  wid  my  story. 
De  fust  time  I  seed  her,  I  sez  to  myself,  '  Dat's 
de  gal  for  me,  an'  I  means  to  hab  her  ef  I  kin  git 
her.'  So  I  scraped  'quaintance  wid  her,  and  axed 
her  ef  she  would  hab  me  ef  our  marsters  would  let  us. 
I  warn't  'fraid  'bout  Marse  Robert,  but  I  warn't  quite 
shore  'bout  Gundover.  So  when  Marse  Robert  com'd 
home,  I  axed  him,  an'  he  larf  'd  an'  said,  '  All  right,' 
an'  dat  he  would  speak  to  ole  Gundover  'bout  it.'  He 
didn't  relish  it  bery  much,  but  he  didn't  like  to  'fuse 
Marse  Robert.  He  wouldn't  sell  her,  for  she  tended 
his  dairy,  an'  war  mighty  handy  'bout  de  house.  He 
said,  I  mought  marry  her  an'  come  to  see  her  wheneber 


OR   SHADOWS  UPLIFTED.  27 

Marse  Robert  would  gib  me  a  pass.  I  wanted  him  to 
sell  her,  but  he  wouldn't  hear  to  it,  so  I  had  to  put  up 
wid  what  I  could  git.  Marse  Robert  war  mighty 
good  to  me,  but  ole  Gundover's  wife  war  de  mean- 
est woman  dat  I  eber  did  see.  She  used  to  go  out  on 
de  plantation  an'  boss  things  like  a  man.  Arter  I  war 
married,  I  had  a  baby.  It  war  de  dearest,  cutest  little 
thing  you  eber  did  see ;  but,  pore  thing,  it  got  sick  and 
died.  It  died  'bout  three  o'clock;  and  in  de  mornin', 
Katie,  habbin  her  cows  to  milk,  lef  her  dead  baby  in  de 
cabin.  When  she  com'd  back  from  milkin'  her  thirty 
cows,  an'  went  to  look  for  her  pore  little  baby,  some  one 
had  been  to  her  cabin  an'  took'd  de  pore  chile  away  an' 
put  it  in  de  groun'.  Pore  Katie,  she  didn't  eben  hab  a 
chance  to  kiss  her  baby  'fore  it  war  buried.  Ole  Gun- 
dover's wife  has  been  dead  thirty  years,  an'  she  didn't 
die  a  day  too  soon.  An'  my  little  baby  has  gone  to 
glory,  an'  is  wingin'  wid  the  angels  an'  a  lookin'  out  for 
us.  One  ob  de  las'  things  ole  Gundover's  wife  did  'fore 
she  died  war  to  order  a  woman  whipped  'cause  she 
com'd  to  de  field  a  little  late  when  her  husband  war 
sick,  an'  she  had  stopped  to  tend  him.  Dat  mornin' 
she  war  taken  sick  wid  de  fever,  an'  in  a  few  days  she 
war  gone  out  like  de  snuff  ob  a  candle.  She  lef  several 
sons,  an'  I  specs  she  would  almos'  turn  ober  in  her 
grave  ef  she  know'd  she  had  ten  culled  granchillen 
somewhar  down  in  de  lower  kentry." 

"  Isn't  it  funny,"  said  Robert,  "  how  these  white  folks 
look  down  on  colored  people,  an'  then  mix  up  with 
them  ?" 

"Marster  war  away  when  Miss  'Liza  treated  my 
Katie  so  mean,  an'  when  I  tole  him  'bout  it,  he  war 


28  IOLA  LEROY, 

teafin'  mad,  an'  went  ober  an'  saw  ole  Gundover,  an' 
foun'  out  he  war  hard  up  for  money,  an'  he  bought 
Katie  and  brought  her  home  to  lib  wid  me,  and  we 's 
been  a  libin  in  clover  eber  sence.  Marster  Robert  has 
been  mighty  good  to  me.  He  stood  by  me  in  my 
troubles,  an'  now  his  trouble's  come,  I'm  a  gwine  to 
stan'  by  him.  I  used  to  think  Gundover's  wife  war 
jealous  ob  my  Katie.  She  war  so  much  puttier.  Gun- 
dover's wife  couldn't  tech  my  Katie  wid  a  ten  foot 
pole." 

"  But,  Aunt  Katie,  you  have  had  your  trials,"  said 
Robert,  now  that  Daniel  had  finished  his  story ;  "  don't 
you  feel  bitter  towards  these  people  who  are  fighting 
to  keep  you  in  slavery  ?  " 

Aunt  Katie  turned  her  face  towards  the  speaker.  It 
was  a  thoughtful,  intelligent  face,  saintly  and  calm.  A 
face  which  expressed  the  idea  of  a  soul  which  had  been 
fearfully  tempest  tossed,  but  had  passed  through  suffer- 
ing into  peace.  Very  touching  was  the  look  of  resigna- 
tion and  hope  which  overspread  her  features  as  she 
replied,  with  the  simple  child-like  faith  which  she 
had  learned  in  the  darkest  hour,  "  The  Lord  says,  we 
must  forgive."  And  with  her  that  thought,  as  com- 
ing from  the  lips  of  Divine  Love,  was  enough  to  settle 
the  whole  question  of  forgiveness  of  injuries  and  love 
to  enemies. 

"  Well,"  said  Thomas  Anderson,  turning  to  Uncle 
Daniel,  "  we  can't  count  on  yer  to  go  wid  us  ?  " 

"  Boys,"  said  Uncle  Daniel,  and  there  was  grief  in 
his  voice,  "  I'se  mighty  glad  you  hab  a  chance  for  your 
freedom  ;  but,  ez  I  tole  yer,  I  promised  Marse  Robert  I 
would  stay,  an'  I  mus'  be  as  good  as  my  word.     Don't 


*   OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  29 

you  youngsters  stay  for  an  ole  stager  like  me.  I'm  ole 
an'  mos'  worn  out.  Freedom  wouldn't  do  much  for 
me,  but  I  want  you  all  to  be  as  free  as  the  birds ;  so, 
you  chillen,  take  your  freedom  when  you  kin  get  it." 

"  But,  Uncle  Dan'el,  you  won't  say  nothin'  'bout  our 
going,  will  you  ?"  said  the  youngest  of  the  company. 

Uncle  Daniel  slowly  arose.  There  was  a  mournful 
flash  in  his  eye,  a  tremor  of  emotion  in  his  voice,  as  he 
said,  "  Look  yere,  boys,  de  boy  dat  axed  dat  question 
war  a  new  comer  on  dis  plantation,  but  some  ob  you's 
bin  here  all  ob  your  lives;  did  you  eber  know  ob  Uncle 
Dan'el  gittin'  any  ob  you  inter  trouble  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  a  chorus  of  voices,  "  but  many's 
de  time  you've  held  off  de  blows  wen  de  oberseer  got 
too  mean,  an'  cruelized  us  too  much,  wen  Marse  Rob- 
ert war  away.  An'  wen  he  got  back,  you  made  him 
settle  de  oberseer's  hash." 

"  Well,  boys,"  said  Uncle  Daniel,  with  an  air  of 
mournful  dignity,  "  I'se  de  same  Uncle  Dan'el  I  eber 
war.  Ef  any  ob  you  wants  to  go,  1  habben't  a  word  to 
say  agin  it.  1  specs  dem  Yankees  be  all  right,  but  I 
knows  Marse  Robert,  an'  I  don't  know  dem,  an'  I  ain't 
a  gwine  ter  throw  away  dirty  water  'til  I  gits  clean." 

"Well,  Uncle  Ben,"  said  Robert,  addressing  a  stal- 
wart man  whose  towering  form  and  darkly  flashing  eye 
told  that  slavery  had  failed  to  put  the  crouch  in  his 
shoulders  or  general  abjectness  into  his  demeanor, 
"you  will  go  with  us,  for  sure,  won't  you?" 

"  Yes,"  spoke  up  Tom  Anderson,  "  'cause  de  trader's 
done  took  your  wife,  an'  got  her  for  his'n  now." 

As  Ben  Tunnel  looked  at  the  speaker,  a  spasm  of 
agony  and  anger  darkened  his  face  and  distorted  his 


30  IOLA   LEROY, 

features,  as  if  the  blood  of  some  strong  race  were  stirring 
with  sudden  vigor  through  his  veins.  He  clutched  his 
hands  together,  as  if  he  were  struggling  with  an  invis- 
ible foe,  and  for  a  moment  he  remained  silent.  Then 
suddenly  raising  his  head,  he  exclaimed,  "  Boys,  there's 
not  one  of  you  loves  freedom  more  than  I  do,  but " 

"But  what?"  said  Tom.  "Do  you  think  white  folks 
is  your  bes'  friends  ? " 

"  I'll  think  so  when  I  lose  my  senses." 

"Well,  now,  I  don't  belieb  you're  'fraid,  not  de  way 
I  yeard  you  talkin'  to  de  oberseer  wen  he  war  threatnin' 
to  hit  your  mudder.  He  saw  you  meant  business,  an' 
he  let  her  alone.  But,  what's  to  hinder  you  from  gwine 
widus?" 

"  My  mother,"  he  replied,  in  a  low,  firm  voice.  "  That 
is  the  only  thing  that  keeps  me  from  going.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  her,  I  would  have  gone  long  ago.  She's  all 
I've  got,  an'  I'm  all  she's  got." 

It  was  touching  to  see  the  sorrow  on  the  strong  face, 
to  detect  the  pathos  and  indignation  in  his  voice,  as  he 
said,  "I  used  to  love  Mirandy  as  I  love  my  life.  I 
thought  the  sun  rose  and  set  in  her.  I  never  saw  a  hand- 
somer woman  than  she  was.  But  she  fooled  me  all  over 
the  face  and  eyes,  and  took  up  with  that  hell-hound  of 
a  trader,  Lukens ;  an'  he  gave  her  a  chance  to  live  easy, 
to  wear  fine  clothes,  an'  be  waited  on  like  a  lady.  I 
thought  at  first  I  would  go  crazy,  but  my  poor  mammy 
did  all  she  could  to  comfort  me.  She  would  tell  me 
there  were  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  were  ever  caught  out 
of  it.  Many  a  time  I've  laid  my  poor  head  on  her  lap, 
when  it  seemed  as  if  my  brain  was  on  fire  and  my  heart 
was  almost  ready  to  burst.     But  in  course  of  time  I  got 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  3 1 

over  the  worst  of  it;  an'  Mirandy  is  the  first  an'  last 
woman  that  ever  fooled  me.  But  that  dear  old  mammy 
of  mine,  I  mean  to  stick  by  her  as  long  as  there  is  a  piece 
of  her.  I  can't  go  over  to  the  army  an'  leave  her  behind, 
for  if  I  did,  an'  anything  should  happen,  I  would  never 
forgive  myself." 

"  But  couldn't  you  take  her  with  you,"  said  Robert, 
"the  soldiers  said  we  could  bring  our  women." 

"  It  isn't  that.  The  Union  army  is  several  miles  from 
here,  an'  my  poor  mammy  is  so  skeery  that,  if  I  Avere  try- 
ing to  get  her  away  and  any  of  them  Secesh  would  over- 
take us,  an'  begin  to  question  us,  she  would  get  skeered 
almost  to  death,  an'  break  down  an'  begin  to  cry,  an'  then 
the  fat  would  be  in  the  fire.  So,  while  I  love  freedom 
more  than  a  child  loves  its  mother's  milk,  I've  made  up 
my  mind  to  stay  on  the  plantation.  I  wish,  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart,  I  could  go.  But  I  can't  take  her 
along  with  me,  an'  I  don't  want  to  be  free  and  leave  her 
behind  in  slavery.  I  was  only  five  years  old  when  my 
master  and,  as  I  believe,  father,  sold  us  both  here  to  this 
lower  country,  an'  we've  been  here  ever  since.  It's  no  use 
talking,  I  won't  leave  her  to  be  run  over  by  everybody." 

A  few  evenings  after  this  interview,  the  Union  sol- 
diers entered  the  town  of  C ,  and  established  their 

headquarters  near  the  home  of  Thomas  Anderson. 

Out  of  the  little  company,  almost  every  one  deserted 
to  the  Union  army,  leaving  Uncle  Daniel  faithful  to  his 
trust,  and  Ben  Tunnel  hushing  his  heart's  deep  aspira- 
tions for  freedom  in  a  passionate  devotion  to  his  timid 
and  affectionate  mother. 


32  IOLA   LEROY, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ARRIVAL    OF    THE    UNION    ARMY. 

A  FEW  evenings  before  the  stampede  of  Robert  and 
his  friends  to  the  army,  and  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  room 
reading  the  latest  news  from  the  pape-r  he  had  secreted, 
he  heard  a  cautious  tread  and  a  low  tap  at  his  window. 
He  opened  the  door  quietly  and  whispered  : — 

"  Anything  new,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  is  it  ?     Come  in." 

"  Well,  I'se  done  bin  seen  dem  Yankees,  an'  dere 
ain't  a  bit  of  troof  in  dem  stories  f'se  bin  yerin  'bout 
'em." 

"  Where  did  you  see  'em  ?  " 

"Down  in  de  woods  whar  Marster  tole  us  to  hide. 
Yesterday  ole  Marse  sent  for  me  to  come  in  de  settin'- 
room.  An'  what  do  you  think?  Instead  ob  makin'  me 
stan'  wid  my  hat  in  my  han'  while  he  went  froo  a  whole 
rigamarole,  he  axed  me  to  sit  down,  an'  he  tole  me  he 
'spected  de  Yankees  would  want  us  to  go  inter  de  army, 
an'  dey  would  put  us  in  front  whar  we'd  all  git  killed; 
an'  I  tole  him  I  didn't  want  to  go,  I  didn't  want  to  git 
all  momached  up.  An'  den  he  said  we'd  better  go 
down  in  de  woods  an'  hide.  Massa  Tom  and  Frank 
said  we'd  better  go  as  quick  as  eber  we  could.  Dey 
said  dem  Yankees  would  put  us  in  dere  wagons  and 
make  us  haul  like  we  war  mules.      Marse  Tom  ain't 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  33 

iibin'  at  de  great  house  jis'  now.  He's  keepin'  bachel- 
lar's  hall." 

"Didn't  he  go  to  the  battle  ?" 

"  No ;  he  foun'  a  pore  white  man  who  war  hard  up 
for  money,  an'  he  got  him  to  go." 

"  But,  Tom,  you  didn't  believe  these  stories  about  the 
Yankees.  Tom  and  Frank  can  lie  as  fast  as  horses  can 
trot.  They  wanted  to  scare  you,  and  keep  you  from 
going  to  the  Union  army." 

"  I  knows  dat  now,  but  I  didn't  'spect  so  den." 

"Well,  when  did  you  see  the  soldiers?  Where  are 
they  ?     And  what  did  they  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  Dey's  right  down  in  Gundover's  woods.  An'  de 
Gineral's  got  his  headquarters  almos'  next  door  to  our 
house." 

"  That  near  ?     Oh,  you  don't  say  so  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  An',  oh,  golly,  ain't  I  so  glad !  I  jis' 
stole  yere  to  told  you  all  'bout  it.  Yesterday  mornin'  I 
war  splittin'  some  wood  to  git  my  breakfas',  an'  I  met 
one  ob  dem  Yankee  sogers.  Well,  I  war  so  skeered, 
my  heart  flew  right  up  in  my  mouf,  but  I  made  my 
manners  to  him  and  said,  '  Good  mornin',  Massa.'  He 
said,  'Good  mornin';  but  don't  call  me  "massa."'  Dat 
war  de  fust  white  man  I  eber  seed  dat  didn't  want  ter 
be  called  '  massa,'  eben  ef  he  war  as  pore  as  Job's 
turkey.  Den  I  begin  to  feel  right  sheepish,  an'  he 
axed  me  ef  my  marster  war  at  home,  an'  ef  he  war  a 
Reb.  I  tole  him  he  hadn't  gone  to  de  war,  but  he  war 
Secesh  all  froo,  inside  and  outside.  He  war  too  ole  to 
go  to  de  war,  but  dat  he  war  all  de  time  gruntin'  an' 
groanin',  an'  I  'spected  he'd  grunt  hisself  to  death." 

"What  did  he  say?" 


34  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  He  said  he  specs  he'll  grunt  worser  dan  dat  fore  dey 
get  froo  wid  him.  Den  he  axed  me  ef  I  would  hab 
some  breakfas,'  an'  I  said,  '  No,  t'ank  you,  sir.'  An'  I 
war  jis^  as  hungry  as  a  dorg,  but  I  war  'feared  to  eat.  I 
war  'feared  he  war  gwine  to  pizen  me." 

"  Poison  you  !  don't  you  know  the  Yankees  are  our 
best  friends  ?  " 

"  Well,  ef  dat's  so,  I'se  mighty  glad,  cause  de  woods  is 
full  ob  dem." 

"  Now,  Tom,  I  thought  you  had  cut  your  eye-teeth 
long  enough  not  to  let  them  Anderson  boys  fool  you. 
Tom,  you  must  not  think  because  a  white  man  says  a 
thing,  it  must  be  so,  and  that  a  colored  man's  word  is  no 
account  'longside  of  his.  Tom,  if  ever  we  get  our  free- 
dom, we've  got  to  learn  to  trust  each  other  and  stick  to- 
gether if  we  would  be  a  people.  Somebody  else  can 
read  the  papers  as  well  as  Marse  Tom  and  Frank.  My 
ole  Miss  knows  I  can  read  the  papers,  an'  she  never  tries 
to  scare  me  with  big  whoppers  'bout  the  Yankees.  She 
knows  she  can't  catch  ole  birds  with  chaff,  so  she  is  just 
as  sweet  as  a  peach  to  her  Bobby.  But  as  soon  as  I  get 
a  chance  I  will  play  her  a  trick  the  devil  never  did." 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"  I'll  leave  her.  I  ain't  forgot  how  she  sold  my  mother 
from  me.  Many  a  night  I  have  cried  myself  to  sleep, 
thinking  about  her,  and  when  I  get  free  I  mean  to  hunt 
her  up." 

"Well,  I  ain't  tole  you  all.  De  gemman  said  he  war 
'cruiting  for  de  army ;  dat  Massa  Linkum  hab  set  us  all 
free,  an'  dat  he  wanted  some  more  sogers  to  put  down  dem 
Secesh ;  dat  we  should  all  hab  our  freedom,  our  wages, 
an'  some  kind  ob  money.     I  couldn't  call  it  like  he  did." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  35 

"  Bounty  money,"  said  Robert. 

"Yes,  dat's  jis'  what  he  called  it,  bounty  money. 
An'  I  said  dat  I  war  in  for  dat,  teeth  and  toe-nails." 

Robert  Johnson's  heart  gave  a  great  bound.  Was 
that  so  ?  Had  that  army,  with  freedom  emblazoned  on 
its  banners,  come  at  last  to  offer  them  deliverance  if 
they  would  accept  it  ?  Was  it  a  bright,  beautiful  dream, 
or  a  blessed  reality  soon  to  be  grasped  by  his  willing 
hands?  His  heart  grew  buoyant  with  hope;  the  light- 
ness of  his  heart  gave  elasticity  to  his  step  and  sent  the 
blood  rejoicingly  through  his  veins.  Freedom  was  al- 
most in  his  grasp,  and  the  future  was  growing  rose-tinted 
and  rainbow-hued.  All  the  ties  which  bound  him  to 
his  home  were  as  ropes  of  sand,  now  that  freedom  had 
come  so  near. 

When  the  army  was  afar  off,  he  had  appeared  to  be 
light-hearted  and  content  with  his  lot.  If  asked  if  he 
desired  his  freedom,  he  would  have  answered,  very 
naively,  that  he  was  eating  his  white  bread  and  believed 
in  letting  well  enough  alone;  he  had  no  intention  of 
jumping  from  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire.  But  in  the 
depths  of  his  soul  the  love  of  freedom  was  an  all-absorb- 
ing passion  ;  only  danger  had  taught  him  caution.  He 
had  heard  of  terrible  vengeance  being  heaped  upon  the 
heads  of  some  who  had  sought  their  freedom  and  failed 
in  the  attempt.  Robert  knew  that  he  might  abandon 
hope  if  he  incurred  the  wrath  of  men  whose  overthrow 
was  only  a  question  of  time.  It  would  have  been  mad- 
ness and  folly  for  him  to  have  attempted  an  insurrection 
against  slavery,  with  the  words  of  McClellan  ringing  in 
his  ears :  "  If  you  rise  I  shall  put  you  down  with  an 
iron  hand,"  and  with  the  home  guards  ready  to  quench 


36  IOLA   LEROY, 

his  aspirations  for  freedom  with  bayonets  and  blood. 
What  could  a  set  of  unarmed  and  undisciplined  men  do 
against  the  fearful  odds  which  beset  their  path  ? 

Robert  waited  eagerly  and  hopefully  his  chance  to 
join  the  Union  army;  and  was  ready  and  willing  to 
do  anything  required  of  him  by  which  he  could  earn 
his  freedom  and  prove  his  manhood.  He  condu  ;ted 
his  plans  with  the  greatest  secrecy.  A  few  faithful 
and  trusted  friends  stood  ready  to  desert  with  him 
when  the  Union  army  came  within  hailing  distance. 
When  it  came,  there  was  a  stampede  to  its  ranks 
of  men  ready  to  serve  in  any  capacity,  to  labor  in  the 
tents,  fight  on  the  fields,  or  act  as  scouts.  It  was  a 
strange  sight  to  see  these  black  men  rallying  around  the 
Stars  and  Stripes,  when  white  men  were  trampling  them 
under  foot  and  riddling  them  with  bullets. 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  37 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    RELEASE    OF    IOLA    LEROY. 

"WELL,  boys,"  said  Robert  to  his  trusted  friends,  as 
they  gathered  together  at  a  meeting  in  Gundover's 
woods,  almost  under  the  shadow  of  the  Union  army, 
"how  many  of  you  are  ready  to  join  the  army  and  fight 
for  your  freedom." 

"  All  ob  us." 

"  The  soldiers,"  continued  Robert,  "  are  camped  right 
at  the  edge  of  the  town.  The  General  has  his  head- 
quarters in  the  heart  of  the  town,  and  one  of  the  officers 
told  me  yesterday  that  the  President  had  set  us  all  free, 
and  that  as  many  as  wanted  to  join  the  army  could 
come  along  to  the  camp.  So  I  thought,  boys,  that  I 
would  come  and  tell  you.  Now,  you  can  take  your 
bag  and  baggage,  and  get  out  of  here  as  soon  as  you 
choose." 

"We  '11  be  ready  by  daylight,"  said  Tom.  "  It  won't 
take  me  long  to  pack  up,"  looking  down  at  his  seedy 
clothes,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  specs  ole  Marse'll  be  real 
lonesome  when  I'm  gone.  An'  won't  he  be  hoppin' 
mad  when  he  finds  I'm  a  goner  ?  I  specs  he'll  hate  it 
like  pizen." 

"  O,  well,"  said  Robert,  "  the  best  of  friends  must 
part.     Don't  let  it  grieve  you." 

"  I'se  gwine  to  take  my  wife  an'  chillen,"  said  one  of 
the  company. 


38  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  I'se  got  nobody  but  myself,"  said  Tom  ;  "but  dere's 
a  mighty  putty  young  gal  dere  at  Marse  Tom's.  I  wish 
I  could  git  her  away.  Dey  tells  me  dey's  been  sellin' 
her  all  ober  de  kentry ;  but  dat  she's  a  reg'lar  spitfire ; 
dey  can't  lead  nor  dribe  her." 

"  Do  you  think  she  would  go  with  us  ? "  said  Robert. 

"  I  think  she's  jis'  dying  to  go.  Dey  say  dey  can't 
do  nuffin  wid  her.  Marse  Tom's  got  his  match  dis  time, 
and  I'se  glad  ob  it.     I  jis'  glories  in  her  spunk." 

"  How  did  she  come  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Marse  bought  her  ob  de  trader  to  keep  house 
for  him.  But  ef  you  seed  dem  putty  white  han's  ob 
hern  you'd  never  tink  she  kept  her  own  house,  let 
'lone  anybody  else's." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  get  her  away  ?  " 

"I  don't  know;  'cause  Marse  Tom  keeps  her  mighty 
close.  My!  but  she's  putty.  Beautiful  long  hair 
comes  way  down  her  back;  putty  blue  eyes,  an'  jis' 
ez  white  ez  anybody's  in  dis  place.  I'd  jis'  wish  you 
could  see  her  yoresef.  I  heerd  Marse  Tom  talkin' 
'bout  her  las'  night  to  his  brudder;  tellin'  him  she 
war  mighty  airish,  but  he  meant  to  break  her  in." 

An  angry  curse  rose  to  the  lips  of  Robert,  but  he  re- 
pressed it  and  muttered  to  himself,  "  Graceless  scamp, 
he  ought  to  have  his  neck  stretched."  Then  turning  to 
Tom,  said  : — 

"  Get  her,  if  you  possibly  can,  but  you  must  be 
mighty  mum  about  it." 

"  Trus'  me  for  dat,"  said  Tom. 

Tom  was  very  anxious  to  get  word  to  the  beautiful 
but  intractable  girl  who  was  held  in  durance  vile  by  her 
reckless  and  selfish  master,  who  had   tried  in  vain   to 


bR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  39 

drag  her  down  to  his  own  low  level  of  sin  and  shame. 
But  all  Tom's  efforts  were  in  vain.  Finally  he  applied 
to  the  Commander  of  the  post,  who  immediately  gave 
orders  for  her  release.  The  next  day  Tom  had  the  sat- 
isfaction of  knowing  that  Iola  Leroy  had  been  taken  as 
a  trembling  dove  from  the  gory  vulture's  nest  and  given 
a  place  of  security.  She  was  taken  immediately  to  the 
General's  headquarters.  The  General  was  much  im- 
pressed by  her  modest  demeanor,  and  surprised  to  see 
the  refinement  and  beauty  she  possessed.  Could  it  be 
possible  that  this  young  and  beautiful  girl  had  been  a 
chattel,  with  no  power  to  protect  herself  from  the  high- 
est insults  that  lawless  brutality  could  inflict  upon  inno- 
cent and  defenseless  womanhood  ?  Could  he  ever  again 
glory  in  his  American  citizenship,  when  any  white  man, 
no  matter  how  coarse,  cruel,  or  brutal,  could  buy  or  sell 
her  for  the  basest  purposes  ?  Was  it  not  true  that  the 
cause  of  a  hapless  people  had  become  entangled  with 
the  lightnings  of  heaven,  and  dragged  down  retribution 
upon  the  land  ? 

The  field  hospital  was  needing  gentle,  womanly  minis- 
trations, and  Iola  Leroy,  released  from  the  hands  of  her 
tormentors,  was  given  a  place  as  nurse ;  a  position  to 
which  she  adapted  herself  with  a  deep  sense  of  relief. 
Tom  was  doubly  gratified  at  the  success  of  his  endeav- 
ors, which  had  resulted  in  the  rescue  of  the  beautiful 
young  girl  and  the  discomfiture  of  his  young  master 
who,  in  the  words  of  Tom,  "was  mad  enough  to  bite  his 
head  off"  (a  rather  difficult  physical  feat). 

Iola,  freed  from  her  master's  clutches,  applied  herself 
readily  to  her  appointed  tasks.  The  beautiful,  girlish 
face  was  full  of  tender  earnestness.     The  fresh,  young 


40  lOLA   LEROY, 

voice  was  strangely  sympathetic,  as  if  some  great  sorrow 
had  bound  her  heart  in  loving  compassion  to  every 
sufferer  who  needed  her  gentle  ministrations. 

Tom  Anderson  was  a  man  of  herculean  strength  and 
remarkable  courage.  But,  on  account  of  physical  de- 
fects, instead  of  enlisting  as  a  soldier,  he  was  forced  to 
remain  a  servant,  although  he  felt  as  if  every  nerve  in 
his  right  arm  was  tingling  to  strike  a  blow  for  freedom. 
He  was  well  versed  in  the  lay  of  the  country,  having 
often  driven  his  master's  cotton  to  market  when  he  was 
a  field  hand.  After  he  became  a  coachman,  he  had  be- 
come acquainted  with  the  different  roads  and  localities 
of  the  country.  Besides,  he  had  often  accompanied  his 
young  masters  on  their  hunting  and  fishing  expeditions. 
Although  he  could  not  fight  in  the  army,  he  proved  an 
invaluable  helper.  When  tents  were  to  be  pitched,  none 
were  more  ready  to  help  than  he.  When  burdens  were 
to  be  borne,  none  were  more  willing  to  bend  beneath 
them  than  Thomas  Anderson.  When  the  battle-field 
was  to  be  searched  for  the  wounded  and  dying,  no  hand 
was  more  tender  in  its  ministrations  of  kindness  than  his. 
As  a  general  factotum  in  the  army,  he  was  ever  ready 
and  willing  to  serve  anywhere  and  at  any  time,  and  to 
gather  information  from  every  possible  source  which 
could  be  of  any  service  to  the  Union  army.  As  a  Pagan 
might  worship  a  distant  star  and  wish  to  call  it  his  own, 
so  he  loved  Iola.  And  he  never  thought  he  could  do  too 
much  for  the  soldiers  who  had  rescued  her  and  were 
bringing  deliverance  to  his  race. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Miss  Iola?"  Robert  asked 
him  one  day,  as  they  were  talking  together. 

"  I  jis'  think  dat  she's  splendid.     Las'  week   I   had 


OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  41 

to  take  some  of  our  pore  boys  to  de  hospital,  an'  she 
war  dere,  lookin'  sweet  an'  putty  ez  an  angel,  a  nussin' 
dem  pore  boys,  an'  ez  good  to  one  ez  de  oder.  It  looks 
to  me  ez  ef  dey  ralely  lob'd  her  shadder.  She  sits  by 
'em  so  patient,  an'  writes  'em  sech  nice  letters  to  der 
frens,  an'  yit  she  looks  so  heart-broke  an'  pitiful,  it  jis* 
gits  to  me,  an'  makes  me  mos'  ready  to  cry.  I'm  so 
glad  dat  Marse  Tom  had  to  gib  her  up.  He  war  too 
mean  to  eat  good  victuals." 

"  He  ought,"  said  Robert,  "  to  be  made  to  live  on 
herrings'  heads  and  cold  potatoes.  It  makes  my  blood 
boil  just  to  think  that  he  was  going  to  have  that  lovely 
looking  young  girl  whipped  for  his  devilment.  He 
ought  to  be  ashamed  to  hold  up  his  head  among  respect- 
able people." 

"  I  tell  you,  Bob,  de  debil  will  neber  git  his  own  till 
he  gits  him.  When  I  seed  how  he  war  treating  her  I 
neber  rested  till  I  got  her  away.  He  buyed  her,  he 
said,  for  his  housekeeper ;  as  many  gals  as  dere  war  on 
de  plantation,  why  didn't  he  git  one  ob  dem  to  keep 
house,  an'  not  dat  nice  lookin'  young  lady  ?  Her  han's 
look  ez  ef  she  neber  did  a  day's  work  in  her  life.  One 
day  when  he  com'd  down  to  breakfas,'  he  chucked  her 
under  de  chin,  an'  tried  to  put  his  arm  roun'  her  waist. 
But  she  jis'  frew  it  off  like  a  chunk  ob  fire.  She  look- 
ed like  a  snake  had  bit  her.  Her  eyes  fairly  spit  fire. 
Her  face  got  red  ez  blood,  an'  den  she  turned  so  pale  I 
thought  she  war  gwine  to  faint,  but  she  didn't,  an'  I 
yered  her  say,  '  I'll  die  fust.'  I  war  mad  'nough  to 
stan'  on  my  head.  I  could  hab  tore'd  him  all  to  pieces 
wen  he  said  he'd  hab  her  whipped." 

"  Did  he  do  it  ?" 


42  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  I  don't  know.  But  he's  mean  'nough  to  do  eny- 
thin'.  Why,  dey  say  she  war  sole  seben  times  in  six 
weeks,  'cause  she's  so  putty,  but  dat  she  war  game  to 
de  las'." 

"Well,  Tom,"  said  Robert,  "getting  that  girl  away 
was  one  of  the  best  things  you  ever  did  in  your  life." 

"  I  think  so,  too.  Not  dat  I  specs  enytin'  ob  it.  I 
don't  spose  she  would  think  ob  an  ugly  chap  like  me ; 
but  it  does  me  good  to  know  dat  Marse  Tom  ain't  got 
her." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  43 


""V. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ROBERT   JOHNSON'S   PROMOTION   AND   RELIGION. 

Robert  Johnson,  being  able  to  meet  the  army  require- 
ments, was  enlisted  as  a  substitute  to  help  fill  out  the 
quota  of  a  Northern  regiment.  With  his  intelligence, 
courage,  and  prompt  obedience,  he  rose  from  the  ranks 
and  became  lieutenant  of  a  colored  company.  He  was 
daring,  without  being  rash  ;  prompt,  but  not  thought- 
less; firm,  without  being  harsh.  Kind  and  devoted  to 
the  company  he  drilled,  he  soon  won  the  respect  of  his 
superior  officers  and  the  love  of  his  comrades. 

"  Johnson,"  said  a  young  officer,  Captain  Sybil,  of 
Maine,  who  had  become  attached  to  Robert,  "what  is 
the  use  of  your  saying  you're  a  colored  man,  when  you 
are  as  white  as  I  am,  and  as  brave  a  man  as  there  is 
among  us.  Why  not  quit  this  company,  and  take  your 
place  in  the  army  just  the  same  as  a  white  man  ?  I 
know  your  chances  for  promotion  would  be  better." 

"  Captain,  you  may  doubt  my  word,  but  to-day  I 
would  rather  be  a  lieutenant  in  my  company  than  a 
captain  in  yours." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"Well,  Captain,  when  a  man's  been  colored  all  his 
life  it  comes  a  little  hard  for  him  to  get  white  all  at 
once.  Were  I  to  try  it,  I  would  feel  like  a  cat  in  a 
strange  garret.  Captain,  I  think  my  place  is  where  I 
am  most  needed.     You  do  not  need  me  in  your  ranks, 


44  IOLA   LEROY, 

and  my  company  does.  They  are  excellent  fighters,  but 
they  need  a  leader.  To  silence  a  battery,  to  capture  a 
flag,  to  take  a  fortification,  they  will  rush  into  the  jaws 
of  death." 

"  Yes,  I  have  often  wondered  at  their  bravery." 

"  Captain,  these  battles  put  them  on  their  mettle. 
They  have  been  so  long  taught  that  they  are  nothing 
and  nobody,  that  they  seem  glad  to  prove  they  are 
something  and  somebody." 

"  But,  Johnson,  you  do  not  look  like  them,  you  do 
not  talk  like  them.  It  is  a  burning  shame  to  have  held 
such  a  man  as  you  in  slavery." 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  any  worse  to  have  held  me  in 
slavery  than  the  blackest  man  in  the  South." 

"  You  are  right,  Johnson.  The  color  of  a  man's  skin 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  possession  of  his  rights." 

"  Now,  there  is  Tom  Anderson,"  said  Robert,"  he  is 
just  as  black  as  biack  can  be.  He  has  been  bought  and 
sold  like  a  beast,  and  yet  there  is  not  a  braver  man  in 
all  the  company.  I  know  him  well.  He  is  a  noble- 
hearted  fellow.  True  as  steel.  I  love  him  like  a 
brother.  And  I  believe  Tom  would  risk  his  life  for  me 
any  day.  He  don't  know  anything  about  his  father  or 
mother.  He  was  sold  from  them  before  he  could 
remember.  He  can  read  a  little.  He  used  to  take 
lessons  from  a  white  gardener  in  Virginia.  He  would 
go  between  the  hours  of  9  P.  M.  and  4  A.  M.  He 
got  a  book  of  his  own,  tore  it  up,  greased  the  pages, 
and  hid  them  in  his  hat.  Then  if  his  master  had  ever 
knocked  his  hat  off  he  would  have  thought  them  greasy 
papers,  and  not  that  Tom  was  carrying  his  library  on  his 
head.    I  had  another  friend  who  lived  near  us.    When 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  45 

he  was  nineteen  years  old  he  did  not  know  how  many 
letters  there  were  in  the  A  B  C's.  One  night,  when  his 
work  was  done,  his  boss  came  into  his  cabin  and  saw 
him  with  a  book  in  his  hand.  He  threatened  to  give 
him  five  hundred  lashes  if  he  caught  him  again  with  a 
book,  and  said  he  hadn't  work  enough  to  do.  He  was 
getting  out  logs,  and  his  task  was  ten  logs  a  day.  His 
employer  threatened  to  increase  it  to  twelve.  He  «aid 
it  just  harassed  him;  it  set  him  on  fire.  He  thought 
there  must  be  something  good  in  that  book  if  the  white 
man  didn't  want  him  to  learn.  One  day  he  had  an  er- 
rand in  the  kitchen,  and  he  heard  one  of  the  colored 
girls  going  over  the  A  B  C's.  Here  was  the  key  to  the 
forbidden  knowledge.  She  had  heard  the  white  chil- 
dren saying  them,  and  picked  them  up  by  heart,  but 
did  not  know  them  by  sight.  He  was  not  content  with 
that,  but  sold  his  cap  for  a  book  and  wore  a  cloth  on 
his  head  instead.  He  got  the  sounds  of  the  letters  by 
heart,  then  cut  off  the  bark  of  a  tree,  carved  the  letters 
on  the  smooth  inside,  and  learned  them.  He  wanted 
to  learn  how  to  write.  He  had  charge  of  a  ware- 
house where  he  had  a  chance  to  see  the  size  and  form 
of  letters.  He  made  the  beach  of  the  river  his  copy- 
book, and  thus  he  learned  to  write.  Tom  never  got 
very  far  with  his  learning,  but  I  used  to  get  the  papers 
and  tell  him  all  I  knew  about  the  war." 

"  How  did  you  get  the  papers  ?" 

"  I  used  to  have  very  good  privileges  for  a  slave.  All 
of  our  owners  were  not  alike.  Some  of  them  were  quite 
clever,  and  others  were  worse  than  git  out.  I  used  to 
%et  the  morning  papers  to  sell  to  the  boarders  and  others, 
ind  when  I  got  them  I  would  contrive  to  hide  a  paper, 


4.6  IOLA   LEROY, 

and  let  some  of  the  fellow-servants  know  how  things 
were  going  on.  And  our  owners  thought  we  cared 
nothing  about  what  was  going  on." 

"  How  was  that  ?  I  thought  you  were  not  allowed 
to  hold  meetings  unless  a  white  man  were  present." 

"  That  was  so.  But  we  contrived  to  hold  secret 
meetings  in  spite  of  their  caution.  We  knew  whom  we 
could  trust.  My  ole  Miss  wasn't  mean  like  some  of 
them.  She  never  wanted  the  patrollers  around  prowl- 
ing in  our  cabins,  and  poking  their  noses  into  our 
business.  Her  husband  was  an  awful  drunkard.  He 
ran  through  every  cent  he  could  lay  his  hands  on, 
and  she  was  forced  to  do  something  to  keep  the  wolf 
from  the  door,  so  she  set  up  a  boarding-house.  But  she 
didn't  take  in  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry.  Nobody  but  the 
big  bugs  stopped  with  her.  She  taught  me  to  read  and 
write,  and  to  cast  up  accounts.  It  was  so  handy  for  her 
to  have  some  one  who  could  figure  up  her  accounts,  and 
read  or  write  a  note,  if  she  were  from  home  and  wanted 
the  like  done.  She  once  told  her  cousin  how  I  could 
write  and  figure  up.  And  what  do  you  think  her  cousin 
said?" 

"'Pleased,'  I  suppose,  'to  hear  it.'" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  She  said,  if  I  belonged  to  her,  she 
would  cut  off  my  thumbs;  her  husband  said,  'Oh,  then 
he  couldn't  pick  cotton.'  As  to  my  poor  thumbs,  it  did 
not  seem  to  be  taken  into  account  what  it  would  cost  me 
to  lose  them.  My  ole  Miss  used  to  have  a  lot  of  books. 
She  would  let  me  read  anyone  of  them  except  a  novel. 
She  wanted  to  take  care  of  my  soul,  but  she  wasn't 
taking  care  of  her  own." 

"  Wasn't  she  religious  ?" 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  47 

"  She  went  for  it.  I  suppose  she  was  as  good  as  most 
of  them.  She  said  her  prayers  and  went  to  church,  but 
I  don't  know  that  that  made  her  any  better.  I  never 
did  take  much  stock  in  white  folks'  religion." 

"Why,  Robert,  I'm  afraid  you  are  something  of  an 
infidel." 

"No,  Captain,  I  believe  in  the  real,  genuine  religion. 
I  ain't  got  much  myself,  but  I  respect  them  that  have. 
We  had  on  our  place  a  dear,  old  saint,  named  Aunt 
Kizzy.  She  was  a  happy  soul.  She  had  seen  hard 
times,  but  was  what  I  call  a  living  epistle.  I've  heard 
her  tell  how  her  only  child  had  been  sold  from  her,  when 
the  man  who  bought  herself  did  not  want  to  buy  her 
child.  Poor  little  fellow!  he  was  only  two  years  old. 
I  asked  her  one  day  how  she  felt  when  her  child  was 
taken  away.  '  I  felt,'  she  said,  '  as  if  I  was  going  to 
my  grave.  But  I  knew  if  I  couldn't  get  justice  here,  I 
could  get  it  in  another  world.'" 

"That  was  faith,"  said  Captain  Sybil,  as  if  speaking  to 
himself,  "a  patient  waiting  for  death  to  redress  the 
wrongs  of  life." 

"Many  a  time,"  continued  Robert,  "have  I  heard  her 
humming  to  herself  in  the  kitchen  and  saying,  '  I  has  my 
trials,  ups  and  downs,  but  it  won't  allers  be  so.  I  specs 
one  day  to  wing  and  wing  wid  de  angels,  Hallelujah ! 
Den  I  specs  to  hear  a  voice  sayin',  "  Poor  ole  Kizzy, 
she's  done  de  bes'  she  kin.  Go  down,  Gabriel,  an'  tote 
her  in."  Den  I  specs  to  put  on  my  golden  slippers,  my 
long  white  robe,  an'  my  starry  crown,  an'  walk  dem 
golden  streets,  Hallelujah!'  I've  known  that  dear, 
old  soul  to  travel  going  on  two  miles,  after  her  work 
was  done,  to  have  some  one  read  to  her.     Her  favorite 


48  '     IOLA   LEROV, 

chapter  began  with,  '  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled, 
ye  believe  in  God,  believe  also  in  Me.'" 

"  I  have  been  deeply  impressed,"  said  Captain  Sybil, 
"with  the  child-like  faith  of  some  of  these  people.  I  do 
not  mean  to  say  that  they  are  consistent  Christians,  but 
I  do  think  that  this  faith  has  in  a  measure  underlain  the 
life  of  the  race.  It  has  been  a  golden  thread  woven 
amid  the  sombre  tissues  of  fneir  lives.  A  ray  of  light 
shimmering  amid  the  gloom  of  their  condition.  And 
what  would  they  have  been  without  it  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  But  I  know  what  she  was  with  it. 
And  I  believe  if  there  are  any  saints  in  glory,  Aunt 
Kizzy  is  one  of  them." 

"  She  is  dead,  then  ?  " 

"Yes,  went  all  right,  singing  and  rejoicing  until  the 
the  last,  'Troubles  over,  troubles  over,  and  den  my 
troubles  will  be  over.  We'll  walk  de  golden  streets  all 
'roun'  in  de  New  Jerusalem.'  Now,  Captain,  that's  the 
ki^  J  of  religion  that  I  want.  Not  that  kind  which  could 
ride  to  church  on  Sundays,  and  talk  so  solemn  with  the 
minister  about  heaven  and  good  things,  then  come  home 
and  light  down  on  the  servants  like  a  thousand  of  bricks. 
I  have  no  use  for  it.  I  don't  believe  in  it.  I  never  did 
and  I  never  will.  If  any  man  wants  to  save  my  soul  he 
ain't  got  to  beat  my  body.  That  ain't  the  kind  of  re- 
ligion I'm  looking  for.  I  ain't  got  a  bit  of  use  for  it. 
Now,  Captain,  ain't  I  right  ? " 

"Well,  yes,  Robert,  I  think  you  are  more  than  half 
right.  You  ought  to  know  my  dear,  old  mother  who 
lives  in  Maine.  We  have  had  colored  company  at  our 
house,  and  I  never  saw  her  show  the  least  difference  be- 
tween her  colored  and  white  guests.      She  is  a  Quaker 


GK   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  49 

preacher,  and  don't  believe  in  war,  but  when  the  rest  of 
the  young  men  went  to  the  front,  I  wanted  to  go  also. 
So  I  thought  it  all  over,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  way 
out  of  slavery  except  through  the  war.  I  had  been 
taught  to  hate  war  and  detest  slavery.  Now  the  time 
had  come  when  I  could  not  help  the  Avar,  but  I  could 
strike  a  blow  for  freedom.  So  I  told  my  mother  I  was 
going  to  the  front,  that  I  expected  to  be  killed,  but  I 
went  to  free  the  slave.  It  went  hard  with  her.  But  I 
thought  that  I  ought  to  come,  and  I  believe  my  mother's 
prayers  are  following  me." 

"  Captain,"  said  Robert,  rising,  "  I  am  glad  that  I  have 
heard  your  story.  I  think  that  some  of  these  Northern 
soldiers  do  two  things — hate  slavery  and   hate  niggers." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  is  so  with  some  of  them.  They 
would  rather  be  whipped  by  Rebels  than  conquer  with 
negroes.  Oh,  I  heard  a  soldier,"  said  Captain  Sybil,  "say, 
when  the  colored  men  were  being  enlisted,  that  he  would 
break  his  sword  and  resign.  But  he  didn't  do  either. 
After  Colonel  Shaw  led  his  charge  at  Fort  Wagner,  and 
died  in  the  conflict,  he  got  bravely  over  his  prejudices. 
The  conduct  of  the  colored  troops  there  and  elsewhere 
has  done  much  to  turn  public  opinion  in  their  favor.  I 
suppose  any  white  soldier  would  rather  have  his  black 
substitute  receive  the  bullets  than  himself." 


50  IOLA   LEROY, 

CHAPTER  VII. 

fOM   ANDERSON'S   DEATH. 

"Where  is  Tom?"  asked  Captain  Sybil;  "I  have 
not  seen  him  for  several  hours." 

"  He's  gone  down  the  sound  with  some  of  the  sol- 
diers," replied  Robert.  "They  wanted  Tom  to  row 
them." 

"  I  am  afraid  those  boys  will  get  into  trouble,  and  the 
Rebs  will  pick  them  off,"  responded  Sybil. 

"  O,  I  hope  not,"  answered  Robert. 

"  I  hope  not,  too ;  but  those  boys  are  too  venture- 
some." 

"  Tom  knows  the  lay  of  the  land  better  than  any  of 
us,"  said  Robert.  "  He  is  the  most  wide-awake  and 
gamiest  man  I  know.  I  reckon  when  the  war  is  over 
Tom  will  be  a  preacher.    Did  you  ever  hear  him  pray?" 

"  No  ;  is  he  good  at  that  ?  " 

"  First-rate,"  continued  Robert.  "  It  would  do  you 
good  to  hear  him.  He  don't  allow  any  cursing  and 
swearing  when  he's  around.  And  what  he  says  is  law 
and  gospel  with  the  boys.  But  he's  so  good-natured ; 
and  they  can't  get  mad  at  him." 

"  Yes,  Robert,  there  is  not  a  man  in  our  regiment  I 
would  sooner  trust  than  Tom.  Last  night,  when  he 
brought  in  that  wounded  scout,  he  couldn't  have  been 
more  tender  if  he  had  been  a  woman.  How  gratefully 
the  poor  fellow  looked  in  Tom's  face  as  he  laid  him 
down  so  carefully  and  staunched  the  blood  which  had 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  5 1 

been  spurting  out  of  him.  Tom  seemed  to  know  it  was 
an  artery  which  had  been  cut,  and  he  did  just  the  right 
thing  to  stop  the  bleeding.  He  knew  there  wasn't  a 
moment  to  be  lost.  He  wasn't  going  to  wait  for  the 
doctor.  I  have  often  heard  that  colored  people  are  un- 
grateful, but  I  don't  think  Tom's  worst  enemy  would 
say  that  about  him." 

"  Captain,"  said  Robert,  with  a  tone  of  bitterness  in 
his  voice,  "  what  had  we  to  be  grateful  for  ?  For  ages 
of  poverty,  ignorance,  and  slavery  ?  I  think  if  anybody 
should  be  grateful,  it  is  the  people  who  have  enslaved 
us  and  lived  off  our  labor  for  generations.  Captain,  I 
used  to  know  a  poor  old  woman  who  couldn't  bear  to 
hear  any  one  play  on  the  piano." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Why,  I  always  heard  that  colored  peo- 
ple were  a  musical  race." 

"  So  we  are ;  but  that  poor  woman's  daughter  was 
sold,  and  her  mistress  took  the  money  to  buy  a  piano. 
Her  mother  could  never  bear  to  hear  a  sound  from  it." 

"  Poor  woman ! "  exclaimed  Captain  Sybil,  sympa- 
thetically; "I  suppose  it  seemed  as  if  the  wail  of  her 
daughter  was  blending  with  the  tones  of  the  instrument. 
I  think,  Robert,  there  is  a  great  deal  more  in  the  col- 
ored people  than  we  give  them  credit  for.  Did  you 
know  Captain  Sellers  ?  " 

"  The  officer  who  escaped  from  prison  and  got  back 
to  our  lines  ?  "  asked  Robert. 

"  Yes.  Well,  he  had  quite  an  experience  in  trying  to 
escape.  He  came  to  an  aged  couple,  who  hid  him  in 
their  cabin  and  shared  their  humble  food  with  him. 
They  gave  him  some  corn-bread,  bacon,  and  coffee 
which  he  thought  was  made  of   scorched    bran.      But 


52  IOLA   LEROY, 

he  said  that  he  never  ate  a  meal  that  he  relished  more 
than  the  one  he  took  with  them.  Just  before  he  went 
they  knelt  down  and  prayed  with  him.  It  seemed  as  if 
his  very  hair  stood  on  his  head,  their  prayer  was  so  sol- 
emn. As  he  was  going  away  the  man  took  some  shin- 
gles and  nailed  them  on  his  shoes  to  throw'  the  blood- 
hounds off  his  track.  I  don't  think  he  will  ever  cease 
to  feel  kindly  towards  colored  people.  I  do  wonder 
what  has  become  of  the  boys  ?  What  can  keep  them 
so  lone;  ?  " 

Just  as  Captain  Sybil  and  Robert  were  wondering  at 
the  delay  of  Tom  and  the  soldiers  they  heard  the  meas- 
ured tread  of  men  who  were  slowly  bearing  a  burden. 
They  were  carrying  Tom  Anderson  to  the  hospital,  fear- 
fully wounded,  and  nigh  to  death.  His  face  was  dis- 
torted, and  the  blood  was  streaming  from  his  wounds. 
His  respiration  was  faint,  his  pulse  hurried,  as  if  life 
were  trembling  on  its  frailest  cords. 

Robert  and  Captain  Sybil  hastened  at  once  towards 
the  wounded  man.  On  Robert's  face  was  a  look  of  in- 
tense anguish,  as  he  bent  pityingly  over  his  friend. 

"  O,  this  is  dreadful !  How  did  it  happen  ?  "  cried 
Robert. 

Captain  Sybil,  pressing  anxiously  forward,  repeated 
Robert's  question. 

"  Captain,"  said  one  of  the  young  soldiers,  advancing 
and  saluting  his  superior  officer,  "we  were  all  in  the 
boat  when  it  struck  against  a  mud  bank,  and  there  was 
not  strength  enough  among  us  to  shove  her  back  into 
the  water.  Just  then  the  Rebels  opened  fire  upon  us. 
For  awhile  we  lay  down  in  the  boat,  but  still  they  kept 
firing.      Tom   took  in  the  whole  situation,  and  said:. 


*OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  53 

'  Some  one  must  die  to  get  us  out  of  this.  I  mought's 
well  be  him  as  any.  You  are  soldiers  and  can  fight. 
If  they  kill  me,  it  is  nuthin'.'  So  Tom  leaped  out  to 
shove  the  boat  into  the  water.  Just  then  the  Rebel 
bullets  began  to  rain  around  him.  He  received  seven  or 
eight  of  them,  and  I'm  afraid  there  is  no  hope  for  him." 

"  O,  Tom,  I  wish  you  hadn't  gone.  O,  Tom  !  Tom  ! " 
cried  Robert,  in  tones  of  agony. 

A  gleam  of  grateful  recognition  passed  over  the 
drawn  features  of  Tom,  as  the  wail  of  his  friend  fell 
on  his  ear.  He  attempted  to  speak,  but  the  words  died 
upon  his  lips,  and  he  became  unconscious. 

"  Well,"  said  Captain  Sybil,  "  put  him  in  one  of  the 
best  wards.  Give  him  into  Miss  Leroy's  care.  If  good 
nursing  can  win  him  back  to  life,  he  shall  not  want  for 
any  care  or  pains  that  she  can  bestow.  Send  immedi- 
ately for  Dr.  Gresham." 

Robert  followed  his  friend  into  the  hospital,  tenderly 
and  carefully  helped  to  lay  him  down,  and  remained 
awhile,  gazing  in  silent  grief  upon  the  sufferer.  Then 
he  turned  to  go,  leaving  him  in  the  hands  of  Iola,  but 
hoping  against  hope  that  his  wounds  would  not  be  fatal. 

With  tender  devotion  Iola  watched  her  faithful  friend. 
He  recognized  her  when  restored  to  consciousness,  and 
her  presence  was  as  balm  to  his  wounds.  He  smiled 
faintly,  took  her  hand  in  his,  stroked  it  tenderly,  looked 
wistfully  into  her  face,  and  said,  "Miss  Iola,  I  ain't  long 
fer  dis !     I'se  'most  home !  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Iola,  "  I  hope  that  you  will  soon  get 
over  this  trouble,  and  live  many  long  and  happy  days." 

"No,  Miss  Iola,  it's  all  ober  wid  me.  I'se  gwine  to 
glory ;    gwine  to  glory ;    gwine   to  ring  dem   charmin' 


54  IOLA   LEROV, 

bells.  Tell  all  de  boys  to  meet  me  in  heben ;  dat  dey 
mus'  'list  in  de  hebenly  war." 

"O,  Mr.  Tom,"  said  Iola,  tenderly,  "do  not  talk  of 
leaving  me.  You  are  the  best  friend  I  have  had  since  I 
was  torn  from  my  mother.  I  should  be  so  lonely  with- 
out you." 

"  Dere's  a  frien'  dat  sticks  closer  dan  a  brudder.  He 
will  be  wid  yer  in  de  sixt'  trial,  an'  in  de  sebbent'  he'll 
not  fo'sake  yer." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Iola,  "  I  know  that.  He  is  all  our 
dependence.  But  I  can't  help  grieving  when  I  see  you 
suffering  so.  But,  dear  friend,  be  quiet,  and  try  to  go 
to  sleep." 

"  I'll  do  enythin'  fer  yer,  Miss  Iola." 

Tom  closed  his  eyes  and  lay  quiet.  Tenderly  and 
anxiously  Iola  watched  over  him  as  the  hours  waned 
away.  The  doctor  came,  shook  his  head  gravely,  and, 
turning  to  Iola,  said,  "There  is  no  hope,  but  do  what 
you  can  to  alleviate  his  sufferings." 

As  Iola  gazed  upon  the  kind  but  homely  features  of 
Tom,  she  saw  his  eyes  open  and  an  unexpressed  desire 
upon  his  face. 

Tenderly  and  sadly  bending  over  him,  with  tears  in 
her  dark,  luminous  eyes,  she  said,  "  Is  there  anything  I 
can  do  for  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom,  with  laboring  breath  ;  "  let  me  hole 
yore  han',  an'  sing  'Ober  Jordan  inter  glory'  an'  'We'll 
anchor  bye  and  bye.' " 

Iola  laid  her  hand  gently  in  the  rough  palm  of  the 
dying  man,  and,  with  a  tremulous  voice,  sang  the  part- 
ing hymns. 

Tenderly  she  wiped  the  death  damps  from  his  dusky 


OR    SHADOWS    UPLTFTED.  55 

brow,  and  imprinted  upon  it  a  farewell  kiss.  Grati- 
tude and  affection  lit  up  the  dying  eye,  which  seemed  to 
be  gazing  into  the  eternities.  Just  then  Robert  entered 
the  room,  and,  seating  himself  quietly  by  Tom's  bed- 
side, read  the  death  signs  in  his  face. 

"  Good-bye,  Robert,"  said  Tom,  "meet  me  in  de  king- 
dom." Suddenly  a  look  of  recognition  and  rapture  lit 
up  his  face,  and  he  murmured,  "Angels,  bright  angels, 
all's  well,  all's  well ! " 

Slowly  his  hand  released  its  pressure,  a  peaceful 
calm  overspread  his  countenance,  and  without  a  sigh  or 
murmur  Thomas  Anderson,  Iola's  faithful  and  devoted 
friend,  passed  away,  leaving  the  world  so  much  poorer 
for  her  than  it  was  before.  Just  then  Dr.  Gresham,  the 
hospital  physician,  came  to  the  bedside,  felt  for  the 
pulse  which  would  never  throb  again,  and  sat  down  in 
silence  by  the  cot. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Doctor,"  said  Iola,  "  has  he 
fainted  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  doctor,  "poor  fellow  !  he  is  dead." 

Iola  bowed  her  head  in  silent  sorrow,  and  then  relieved 
the  anguish  of  her  heart  by  a  flood  of  tears.  Robert 
rose,  and  sorrowfully  left  the  room. 

Iola,  with  tearful  eyes  and  aching  heart,  clasped  the 
cold  hands  over  the  still  breast,  closed  the  waxen  lid 
over  the  eye  which  had  once  beamed  with  kindness  or 
flashed  with  courage,  and  then  went  back,  after  the 
burial,  to  her  daily  round  of  duties,  feeling  the  sad  miss- 
ing of  something  from  her  life. 


56  IOLA   LEROV, 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   MYSTIFIED   DOCTOR. 

"  COLONEL,"  said  Dr.  Gresham  to  Col.  Robinson,  the 
commander  of  the  post,  "  I  am  perfectly  mystified  by 
Miss  Leroy." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  "  asked  Col.  Robinson. 
"  Is  she  not  faithful  to  her  duties  and  obedient  to  your 
directions  ?  " 

"  Faithful  is  not  the  word  to  express  her  tireless 
energy  and  devotion  to  her  work,"  responded  Dr. 
Gresham.  "  She  must  have  been  a  born  nurse  to  put 
such  enthusiasm  into  her  work." 

"  Why,  Doctor,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  You 
talk  like  a  lover." 

A  faint  flush  rose  to  the  cheek  of  Dr.  Gresham  as  he 
smiled,  and  said,  "Oh!  come  now,  Colonel,  can't  a  man 
praise  a  woman  without  being  in  love  with  her  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  can,"  said  Col.  Robinson ;  "  but  I 
know  where  such  admiration  is  apt  to  lead.  I've  been 
there  myself.  But,  Doctor,  had  you  not  better  defer 
your  love-making  till  you're  out  of  the  woods  ?" 

"  I  assure  you,  Colonel,  I  am  not  thinking  of  love  or 
courtship.  That  is  the  business  of  the  drawing-room, 
and  not  of  the  camp.  But  she  did  mystify  me  last 
night." 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked  Col.  Robinson. 

"  When  Tom  was  dying,"  responded  the  doctor,  "  I 
saw  that  beautiful  and   refined  young  lady  bend  over 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  57 

and  kiss  him.  When  she  found  that  he  was  dead,  she 
just  cried  as  if  her  heart  was  breaking.  Well,  that  was 
a  new  thing  to  me.  I  can  eat  with  colored  people,  walk, 
talk,  and  fight  with  them,  but  kissing  them  is  something 
1  don't  hanker  after." 

"And  yet  you  saw  Miss  Leroy  do  it  ?" 

"Yes;  and  that  puzzles  me.  She  is  one  of  the 
most  refined  and  lady-like  women  I  ever  saw.  I  hear  she 
is  a  refugee,  but  she  does  not  look  like  the  other  refugees 
who  have  come  to  our  camp.  Her  accent  is  slightly 
Southern;  but  her  manner  is  Northern.  She  is  self-re- 
specting without  being  supercilious;  quiet,  without  being 
dull.  Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet,  yet  at  times  there  are 
tones  of  such  passionate  tenderness  in  it  that  you  would 
think  some  great  sorrow  has  darkened  and  overshadowed 
her  life.  Without  being  the  least  gloomy,  her  face  at  times 
is  pervaded  by  an  air  of  inexpressible  sadness.  I  some- 
times watch  her  when  she  is  not  aware  that  I  am  looking 
at  her,  and  it  seems  as  if  a  whole  volume  was  depicted 
on  her  countenance.  When  she  smiles,  there  is  a  longing 
in  her  eyes  which  is  never  satisfied.  I  cannot  under- 
stand how  a  Southern  lady,  whose  education  and  manners 
stamp  her  as  a  woman  of  fine  culture  and  good  breeding, 
could  consent  to  occupy  the  position  she  so  faithfully 
holds.     It  is  a  mystery  I  cannot  solve.     Can  you  ?" 

"  I  think  I  can,"  answered  Col.  Robinson. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  ?  "  queried  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  on  one  condition." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Everlasting  silence." 

"  I  promise,"  said  the  doctor.  "  The  secret  between 
us  shall  be  as  deep  as  the  sea." 


58  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  She  has  not  requested  secrecy,  but  at  present,  for  hei 
sake,  I  do  not  wish  the  secret  revealed.  Miss  Leroy  was 
a  slave." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  starting  to  his  feet,  "  it 
can't  be  so  !     A  woman  as  white  as  she  a  slave  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  so,"  continued  the  colonel.  "In  these 
States  the  child  follows  the  condition  of  its  mother. 
This  beautiful  and  accomplished  girl  was  held  by  one  of 
the  worst  Rebels  in  town.  Tom  told  me  of  it  and  I  issued 
orders  for  her  release." 

"  Well,  well !  Is  that  so  ?  "  said  Dr.  Gresham,  thought- 
fully stroking  his  beard.  "Wonders  will  never  cease. 
Why,  I  was  just  beginning  to  think  seriously  of  her." 

"  What's  to  hinder  your  continuing  to  think  ?  "  asked 
Col.  Robinson. 

"  What  you  tell  me  changes  the  whole  complexion  of 
affairs,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"  If  that  be  so  I  am  glad  I  told  you  before  you  got 
head  over  heels  in  love." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  absently. 

Dr.  Gresham  was  a  member  of  a  wealthy  and  aristo- 
cratic family,  proud  of  its  lineage,  which  it  could  trace 
through  generations  of  good  blood  to  its  ancestral  isle. 
He  had  become  deeply  interested  in  Iola  before  he 
had  heard  her  story,  but  after  it  had  been  revealed  to 
him  he  tried  to  banish  her  from  his  mind;  but  his  con- 
stant observation  of  her  only  increared  his  interest  and 
admiration.  The  deep  pathos  of  her  story,  the  tender- 
ness of  her  ministrations,  bestowed  alike  on  black  and 
white,  and  the  sad  loneliness  of  her  condition,  awakened 
within  him  a  desire  to  defend  and  protect  her  all  through 
her  future  life.     The  fierce  clashing  of  war  had  not  taken 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  59 

all  the  romance  out  of  his  nature.  In  Iola  he  saw  realized 
his  ideal  of  the  woman  whom  he  was  willing  to  marry. 
A  woman,  tender,  strong,  and  courageous,  and  rescued 
only  by  the  strong  arm  of  his  Government  from  a  fate 
worse  than  death.  She  was  young  in  years,  but  old  in 
sorrow;  one  whom  a  sad  destiny  had  changed  from  a 
light-hearted  girl  to  a  heroic  woman.  As  he  observed 
her,  he  detected  an  undertone  of  sorrow  in  her  most 
cheerful  words,  and  observed  a  quick  flushing  and  sudden 
paling  of  her  cheek,  as  if  she  were  living  over  scenes  that 
were  thrilling  her  soul  with  indignation  or  chilling  her 
heart  with  horror.  As  nurse  and  physician,  Iola  and  Dr. 
Gresham  were  constantly  thrown  together.  His  friends 
sent  him  magazines  and  books,  which  he  gladly  shared 
with  her.  The  hospital  was  a  sad  place.  Mangled 
forms,  stricken  down  in  the  flush  of  their  prime  and 
energy;  pale  young  corpses,  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of 
slavery,  constantly  drained  on  her  sympathies.  Dr. 
Gresham  was  glad  to  have  some  reading  matter  which 
might  divert  her  mind  from  the  memories  of  her  mournful 
past,  and  also  furnish  them  both  with  interesting  themes 
of  conversation  in  their  moments  of  relaxation  from  the 
harrowing  scenes  through  which  they  were  constantly 
passing.  Without  any  effort  or  consciousness  on  her 
part,  his  friendship  ripened  into  love.  To  him  her 
presence  was  a  pleasure,  her  absence  a  privation ;  and 
her  loneliness  drew  deeply  upon  his  sympathy.  He 
would  have  merited  his  own  self-contempt  if,  by  word 
or  deed,  he  had  done  anything  to  take  advantage  of  her 
situation.  All  the  manhood  and  chivalry  of  his  nature 
rose  in  her  behalf,  and,  after  carefully  revolving  the 
matter,  he  resolved  to  win  her  for  his  bride,  bury  her 


60  IOLA    LEROY, 

secret  in  his  Northern  home,  and  hide  from  his  aristo- 
cratic relations  ell  knowledge  of  her  mournful  past.  One 
day  he  said  to  Iola: — 

"  This  hospital  life  is  telling  on  you.  Your  strength  is 
failing,  and  although  you  posses'  a  wonderful  amount  of 
physical  endurance,  you  must  rot  forget  that  saints  have 
bodies  and  dwell  in  tabernacles  of  clay,  just  the  same  as 
we  common  mortals." 

"  Compliments  aside,"  she  said,  smiling ;  "  what  are 
you  driving  at,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  he  replied,  "  that  you'  are  running  down, 
and  if  you  do  not  quit  and  take  some  rest  you  will  be  our 
patient  instead  of  our  nurse.  You'd  better  take  a  fur- 
lough, go  North,  and  return  after  the  first  frost." 

"  Doctor,  L  inat  is  your  only  remedy,"  replied  Iola, 
"  I  am  afraid  that  I  am  destined  to  die  at  my  post.  I 
have  no  special  friends  in  the  North,  and  no  home  but 
this  in  the  South.     I  am  homeless  and  alone." 

There  was  something  so  sad,  almost  despairing  in  her 
tones,  in  the  drooping  of  her  head,  and  the  quivering 
of  her  lip,  that  they  stirred  Dr.  Gresham's  heart  with 
sudden  pity,  and,  drawing  nearer  to  her,  he  said,  "  Miss 
Leroy,  you  need  not  be  all  alone.  Let  me  claim  the 
privilege  of  making  your  life  bright  and  happy.  Iola, 
I  have  loved  you  ever  since  I  have  seen  your  devotion 
to  our  poor,  sick  boys.  How  faithfully  you,  a  young 
and  gracious  girl,  have  stood  at  your  post  and  per- 
formed your  duties.  And  now  I  ask,  will  you  not 
permit  me  to  clasp  hands  with  you  for  life  ?  I  do 
not  ask  for  a  hasty  reply.  Give  yourself  time  to  think 
over  what  1  have  proposed." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  6l 

CHAPTER   IX. 

EUGENE   LEROY   AND   ALFRED   LORRAINE. 

NEARLY  twenty  years  before  the  war,  two  young 
men,  of  French  and  Spanish  descent,  sat  conversing  on 
a  large  verandah  which  surrounded  an  ancient  home  on 
the  Mississippi  River.  It  was  French  in  its  style  of 
architecture,  large  and  rambling,  with  no  hint  of  modern 
improvements. 

The  owner  of  the  house  was  the  only  heir  of  a  Creole 
planter.  He  had  come  into  possession  of  an  inheritance 
consisting  of  vast  baronial  estates,  bank  stock,  and  a 
large  number  of  slaves.  Eugene  Leroy,  being  deprived 
of  his  parents,  was  left,  at  an  early  age,  to  the  care  of 
a  distant  relative,  who  had  sent  him  to  school  and  col- 
lege, and  who  occasionally  invited  him  to  spend  his 
vacations  at  his  home.  But  Eugene  generally  declined 
his  invitations,  as  he  preferred  spending  his  vacations 
at  the  watering  places  in  the  North,  with  their  fashion- 
able and  not  always  innocent  gayeties.  Young,  viva- 
cious, impulsive,  and  undisciplined,  without  the  restrain- 
ing influence  of  a  mother's  love  or  the  guidance  of  a 
father's  hand,  Leroy  found  himself,  when  his  college  days 
were  over,  in  the  dangerous  position  of  a  young  man 
with  vast  possessions,  abundant  leisure,  unsettled  prin- 
ciples, and  uncontrolled  desires.  He  had  no  other  ob- 
ject than  to  extract  from  life  its  most  seductive  draughts 
of  ease  and  pleasure.  His  companion,  who  sat  opposite 
him  on  the  verandah,  quietly  smoking  a  cigar,  was  a 


62  IOI.A   LEROV., 

remote  cousin,  a  few  years  older  than  himself,  the 
warmth  of  whose  Southern  temperament  had  been 
modified   by  an   infusion   of   Northern   blood. 

Eugene  was  careless,  liberal,  and  impatient  of  details, 
while  his  companion  and  cousin,  Alfred  Lorraine,  was 
selfish,  eager,  keen,  and  alert ;  also  hard,  cold,  method- 
ical, and  ever  ready  to  grasp  the  main  chance.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  the  difference  between  them,  they  had 
formed  a  warm  friendship  for  each  other. 

"Alfred,"  said  Eugene,  "  I  am  going  to  be  married." 

Lorraine  opened  his  eyes  with  sudden  wonder,  and 
exclaimed :  "  Well,  that's  the  latest  thing  out !  Who 
is  the  fortunate  lady  who  has  bound  you  with  her  silken 
fetters  ?  Is  it  one  of  those  beautiful  Creole  girls  who 
were  visiting  Augustine's  plantation  last  winter?  I 
watched  you  during  our  visit  there  and  thought  that 
you  could  not  be  proof  against  their  attractions.  Which 
is  your  choice  ?  It  would  puzzle  me  to  judge  between 
the  two.  They  had  splendid  eyes,  dark,  luminous,  and 
languishing;  lovely  complexions  and  magnificent  hair. 
Both  were  delightful  in  their  manners,  refined  and 
cultured,  with  an  air  of  vivacity  mingled  with  their 
repose  of  manner  which  was  perfectly  charming.  As 
the  law  only  allows  us  one,  which  is  your  choice  ?  Miss 
Annette  has  more  force  than  her  sister,  and  if  I  could 
afford  the  luxury  of  a  wife  she  would  be  my  choice." 

"Ah,  Alf,"  said  Eugene,  "  I  see  that  you  are  a  prac- 
tical business  man.  In  marrying  you  want  a  wife  to 
assist  you  as  an  efficient  plantation  mistress.  One  who 
would  tolerate  no  waste  in  the  kitchen  and  no  disorder 
in  the  parlor." 

"  Exactly  so,"  responded  Lorraine  ;  "  I  am  too  poor 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  63 

to  marry  a  mere  parlor  ornament.  You  can  afford  to 
do  it ;  I  cannot." 

"  Nonsense,  if  I  were  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse  I 
would  marry  the  woman  I  love." 

"  Very  fine  sentiments,"  said  Lorraine,  "  and  were  I 
as  rich  as  you  I  would  indulge  in  them  also.  You  know, 
when  my  father  died  I  had  great  expectations.  We 
had  always  lived  in  good  style,  and  I  never  thought 
for  a  moment  he  was  not  a  rich  man,  but  when  his 
estate  was  settled  I  found  it  was  greatly  involved,  and 
I  was  forced  to  face  an  uncertain  future,  with  scarcely 
a  dollar  to  call  my  own.  Land,  negroes,  cattle,  and 
horses  all  went  under  the  hammer.  The  only  thing  I 
retained  was  the  education  I  received  at  the  North; 
that  was  my  father's  best  investment,  and  all  my  stock 
in  trade.  With  that  only  as  an  outfit,  it  would  be  mad- 
ness for  me  to  think  of  marrying  one  of  those  lovely 
girls.  They  remind  me  of  beautiful  canary  birds,  charm- 
ing and  pretty,  but  not  fitted  for  the  wear  and  tear  of 
plantation  life.    Well,  which  is  your  choice  ? " 

"Neither,"  replied  Eugene. 

"Then,  is  it  that  magnificent  looking  widow  from 
New  Orleans,  whom  we  met  before  you  had  that  terri- 
ble spell  of  sickness  and  to  whom  you  appeared  so 
devoted  ?" 

"  Not  at  all.  I  have  not  heard  from  her  since  that 
summer.  She  was  fascinating  and  handsome,  but  fear- 
fully high  strung." 

"Were  you  afraid  of  her?" 

"No;  but  T  valued  my  happiness  too  much  to  trust 
it  in  her  hands." 

"  Sour  grapes  !  "  said  Lorraine. 


64  IOLA   LEROY, 

"No!  but  I  think  that  slavery  and  the  lack  of  out- 
side interests  are  beginning  to  tell  on  the  lives  of  our 
women.  They  lean  too  much  on  their  slaves,  have  too 
much  irresponsible  power  in  their  hands,  are  narrowed 
and  compressed  by  the  routine  of  plantation  life  and 
the  lack  of  intellectual  stimulus." 

"  Yes,  Eugene,  when  I  see  what  other  women  are 
doing  in  the  fields  of  literature  and  art,  I  cannot  help 
thinking  an  amount  of  brain  power  has  been  held  in 
check  among  us.  Yet  I  cannot  abide  those  Northern 
women,  with  their  suffrage  views  and  abolition  cant. 
They  just  shock  me." 

"  But  your  mother  was  a  Northern  woman,"  said  Eu- 
gene. 

"  Yes ;  but  she  got  bravely  over  her  Northern  ideas. 
As  I  remember  her,  she  was  just  as  much  a  Southerner 
as  if  she  had  been  to  the  manor  born.  She  came  here 
as  a  school-teacher,  but  soon  after  she  came  she  married 
my  father.  He  was  easy  and  indulgent  with  his  ser- 
vants, and  held  them  with  a  very  loose  rein.  But  my 
mother  was  firm  and  energetic.  She  made  the  niggers 
move  around.  No  shirking  nor  dawdling  with  her. 
"When  my  father  died,  she  took  matters  in  hand,  but 
she  only  outlived  him  a  few  months.  If  she  had  lived 
I  believe  that  she  would  have  retrieved  our  fortune.  I 
know  that  she  had  more  executive  ability  than  my 
father.  He  was  very  squeamish  about  selling  his  ser- 
vants, but  she  would  have  put  every  one  of  them  in  her 
pocket  before  permitting  them  to  eat  her  out  of  house 
and  home.     But  whom  are  you  going  to  marry  ?" 

"A  young  lady  who  graduates  from  a  Northern  semi- 
nary next  week,"  responded  Eugene. 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  65 

"I  think  you  are  very  selfish,"  said  Lorraine.  "You 
might  have  invited  a  fellow  to  go  with  you  to  be  your 
best  man." 

"  The  wedding  is  to  be  strictly  private.  The  lady 
whom  I  am  to  marry  has  negro  blood  in  her  veins." 

"  The  devil  she  has ! "  exclaimed  Lorraine,  starting 
to  his  feet,  and  looking  incredulously  on  the  face  of 
Leroy.  "Are  you  in  earnest  ?  Surely  you  must  be  jest- 
ing." 

"  I  am  certainly  in  earnest,"  answered  Eugene  Leroy. 
"  I  mean  every  word  I  say." 

"  Oh,  it  can't  be  possible  !  Are  you  mad  ?"  exclaimed 
Lorraine. 

"  Never  was  saner  in  my  life." 

"  What  under  heaven  could  have  possessed  you  to  do 
such  a  foolish  thing  ?     Where  did  she  come  from." 

"Right  here,  on  this  plantation.  But  I  have  edu- 
cated and  manumitted  her,  and  I  intend  marrying 
her." 

"  Why,  Eugene,  it  is  impossible  that  you  can  have  an 
idea  of  marrying  one  of  your  slaves.  Why,  man,  she  is 
your  property,  to  have  and  to  hold  to  all  intents  and 
purposes.  Are  you  not  satisfied  with  the  power  and 
possession  the  law  gives  you  ?  " 

"  No.  Although  the  law  makes  her  helpless  in  my 
hands,  to  me  her  defenselessness  is  her  best  defense." 

"  Eugene,  we  have  known  each  other  all  of  our  lives, 
and,  although  I  have  always  regarded  you  as  eccentric, 
I  never  saw  you  so  completely  off  your  balance  before. 
The  idea  of  you,  with  your  proud  family  name,  your 
vast  wealth  in  land  and  negroes,  intending  to  marry  one 
of  them,  is  a  mystery  I  cannot  solve.     Do  explain  to 


66  IOLA   LEROY, 

me  why  you  are  going  to  take  this  extremely  strange 
and  foolish  step." 

"  You  never  saw  Marie  ?" 

"  No ;  and  I  don't  want  to." 

"  She  is  very  beautiful.  In  the  North  no  one  would 
suspect  that  she  has  one  drop  of  negro  blood  in  her 
veins,  but  here,  where  I  am  known,  to  marry  her  is  to 
lose  caste.  I  could  live  with  her,  and  not  incur  much  if 
any  social  opprobrium.  Society  would  wink  at  the  trans- 
gression, even  if  after  she  had  become  the  mother  of 
my  children  I  should  cast  her  off  and  send  her  and 
them  to  the  auction  block." 

"  Men,"  replied  Lorraine,  "  would  merely  shrug  their 
shoulders ;  women  would  say  you  had  been  sowing  your 
wild  oats.  Your  money,  like  charity,  would  cover  a  mul- 
titude of  faults." 

"  But  if  I  make  her  my  lawful  wife  and  recognize 
her  children  as  my  legitimate  heirs,  I  subject  myself  to 
social  ostracism  and  a  senseless  persecution.  We  Amer- 
icans boast  of  freedom,  and  yet  here  is  a  woman  whom 
I  love  as  I  never  loved  any  other  human  being,  but  both 
law  and  public  opinion  debar  me  from  following  the  in- 
clination of  my  heart.  She  is  beautiful,  faithful,  and 
pure,  and  yet  all  that  society  will  tolerate  is  what  I 
would  scorn  to  do." 

"  But  has  not  society  the  right  to  guard  the  purity  of 
its  blood  by  the  rigid  exclusion  of  an  alien  race  ?  " 

"  Excluding  it !     How?"  asked  Eugene. 

"  By  debarring  it  from  social  intercourse." 

"  Perhaps  it  has,"  continued  Eugene,  "  but  should  not 
society  have  a  greater  ban  for  those  who,  by  consorting 
with  an  alien  race,  rob  their  offspring  of  a  right  to  their 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLTFTED.  67 

names  and  to  an  inheritance  in  their  property,  and  who 
fix  their  social  status  among  an  enslaved  and  outcast 
race  ?  Don't  eye  me  so  curiously  ;  I  am  not  losing  my 
senses." 

"  I  think  you  have  done  that  already,"  said  Lorraine. 
"  Don't  you  know  that  if  she  is  as  fair  as  a  lily,  beau- 
tiful as  a  houri,  and  chaste  as  ice,  that  still  she  is  a 
negro  ?  " 

"  Oh,  come  now  ;  she  isn't  much  of  a  negro." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  however.  One  drop  of  negro 
blood  in  her  veins  curses  all  the  rest." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Eugene,  sadly,  "but  I  have  weighed 
the  consequences,  and  am  prepared  to  take  them." 

"  Well,  Eugene,  your  course  is  so  singular !  I  do 
wish  that  you  would  tell  me  why  you  take  this  unpre- 
cedented step  ? " 

Eugene  laid  aside  his  cigar,  looked  thoughtfully  at 
Lorraine,  and  said,  "  Well,  Alfred,  as  we  are  kinsmen 
and  life-long  friends,  I  will  not  resent  your  asking  my 
reason  for  doing  that  which  seems  to  you  the  climax  of 
absurdity,  and  if  you  will  have  the  patience  to  listen  I 
will  tell  you." 

"  Proceed,  I  am  all  attention." 

"  My  father  died,"  said  Eugene,  "  as  you  know,  when 
I  was  too  young  to  know  his  loss  or  feel  his  care  and, 
being  an  only  child,  I  was  petted  and  spoiled.  I  grew 
up  to  be  wayward,  self-indulgent,  proud,  and  imperious. 
I  went  from  home  and  made  many  friends  both  at  col- 
lege and  in  foreign  lands.  I  was  well  supplied  with 
money  and,  never  having  been  forced  to  earn  it,  was 
ignorant  of  its  value  and  careless  of  its  use.  My  lavish 
expenditures  and  liberal  benefactions  attracted  to  me  a 


68  IOLA   LEROY, 

number  of  parasites,  and  men  older  than  myself  led  me 
into  the  paths  of  vice,  and  taught  me  how  to  gather  the 
flowers  of  sin  which  blossom  around  the  borders  of 
hell.  In  a  word,  I  left  my  home  unwarned  and  unarmed 
against  the  seductions  of  vice.  I  returned  an  initiated 
devotee  to  debasing  pleasures.  Years  of  my  life  were 
passed  in  foreign  lands;  years  in  which  my  soul  slum- 
bered and  seemed  pervaded  with  a  moral  paralysis; 
years,  the  memory  of  which  fills  my  soul  with  sorrow 
and  shame.  I  went  to  the  capitals  of  the  old  world  to 
see  life,  but  in  seeing  life  I  became  acquainted  with  death, 
the  death  of  true  manliness  and  self-respect.  You  look 
astonished ;  but  I  tell  you,  Alf,  there  is  many  a  poor 
clod-hopper,  on  whom  are  the  dust  and  grime  of  unremit- 
ting toil,  who  feels  more  self-respect  and  true  manliness 
than  many  of  us  with  our  family  prestige,  social  position, 
and  proud  ancestral  halls.  After  I  had  lived  abroad  for 
years,  I  returned  a  broken-down  young  man,  prema- 
turely old,  my  constitution  a  perfect  wreck.  A  life  of 
folly  and  dissipation  was  telling  fearfully  upon  me. 
My  friends  shrank  from  me  in  dismay.  I  was  sick  nigh 
unto  death,  and  had  it  not  been  for  Marie's  care  I  am  cer- 
tain that  I  should  have  died.  She  followed  me  down  to 
the  borders  of  the  grave,  and  won  me  back  to  life  and 
health.  I  was  slow  in  recovering  and,  during  the  time, 
I  had  ample  space  for  reflection,  and  the  past  unrolled 
itself  before  me.  I  resolved,  over  the  wreck  and  ruin 
of  my  past  life,  to  build  a  better  and  brighter  future. 
Marie  had  a  voice  of  remarkable  sweetness,  although  it 
lacked  culture.  Often  when  I  was  nervous  and  restless 
I  would  have  her  sing  some  of  those  weird  and  plaintive 
melodies  which  she  had  learned  from  the  plantation 


OR   SHADOWS  UPLIFTED.  69 

negroes.  Sometimes  I  encouraged  her  to  talk,  and  I 
was  surprised  at  the  native  vigor  of  her  intellect.  By 
degrees  I  became  acquainted  with  her  history.  She  was 
all  alone  in  the  world.  She  had  no  recollection  of  her 
father,  but  remembered  being  torn  from  her  mother 
while  clinging  to  her  dress.  The  trader  who  bought  her 
mother  did  not  wish  to  buy  her.  She  remembered  hav- 
ing a  brother,  with  whom  she  used  to  play,  but  she  had 
been  separated  from  him  also,  and  since  then  had  lost 
all  trace  of  them.  After  she  was  sold  from  her  mother 
she  became  the  property  of  an  excellent  old  lady,  who 
seems  to  have  been  very  careful  to  imbue  her  mind 
with  good  principles ;  a  woman  who  loved  purity,  not 
only  for  her  own  daughters,  but  also  for  the  defenseless 
girls  in  her  home.  I  believe  it  was  the  lady's  intention 
to  have  freed  Marie  at  her  death,  but  she  died  suddenly, 
and,  the  estate  being  involved,  she  was  sold  with  it  and 
fell  into  the  hands  of  my  agent.  I  became  deeply  in- 
terested in  her  when  I  heard  her  story,  and  began  to 
pity  her." 

"  And  I  suppose  love  sprang  from  pity." 

"  I  not  only  pitied  her,  but  I  learned  to  respect  her. 
I  had  met  with  beautiful  women  in  the  halls  of  wealth 
and  fashion,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  but  there  was 
something  in  her  different  from  all  my  experience  of 
womanhood." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Lorraine,  with  a  sneer ; 
"  but  I  should  like  to  know  what  it  was." 

"  It  was  something  such  as  I  have  seen  in  old 
cathedrals,  lighting  up  the  beauty  of  a  saintly  face.  A 
light  which  the  poet  tells  was  never  seen  on  land  or  sea. 
I  thought  of  this  beautiful  and  defenseless  girl  adrift  in 


70  TOLA   LERO^, 

the  power  of  a  reckless  man,  who,  with  all  the  advan- 
tages of  wealth  and  education,  had  trailed  his  manhood 
in  the  dust,  and  she,  with  simple,  childlike  faith  in  the 
Unseen,  seemed  to  be  so  good  and  pure  that  she  com- 
manded my  respect  and  won  my  heart.  In  her  presence 
every  base  and  unholy  passion  died,  subdued  by  the 
supremacy  of  her  virtue." 

"  Why,  Eugene,  what  has  come  over  you  ?  Talking 
of  the  virtue  of  these  quadroon  girls!  You  have  lived 
so  long  in  the  North  and  abroad,  that  you  seem  to  have 
lost  the  cue  of  our  Southern  life.  Don't  you  know  that 
these  beautiful  girls  have  been  the  curse  of  our  homes  ? 
You  have  no  idea  of  the  hearts  which  are  wrung  by 
their  presence." 

"  But,  Alfred,  suppose  it  is  so.  Are  they  to  blame 
for  it  ?  What  can  any  woman  do  when  she  is  placed  in 
the  hands  of  an  irresponsible  master;  when  she  knows 
that  resistance  is  vain  ?  Yes,  Alfred,  I  agree  with  you, 
these  women  are  the  bane  of  our  Southern  civilization  ; 
but  they  are  the  victims  and  we  are  the  criminals." 

"  I  think  from  the  airs  that  some  of  them  put  on  when 
they  get  a  chance,  that  they  are  very  willing  victims." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  our  institution.  If  it  is  cruel 
to  debase  a  hapless  victim,  it  is  an  increase  of  cruelty  to 
make  her  contented  with  her  degradation.  Let  me  tell 
you,  Alf,  you  cannot  wrong  or  degrade  a  woman  without 
wronging  or  degrading  yourself." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Eugene  ?  Are  you 
thinking  of  taking  priest's  orders  ?  " 

"No,  Alf,"  said  Eugene,  rising  and  rapidly  pacing  the 
floor,  "you  may  defend  the  system  as  much  as  you 
please,  but  you  cannot  deny  that  the  circumstances  it 


>    OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  7 1 

creates,  and  the  temptations  it  affords,  are  sapping  our 
strength  and  undermining  our  character." 

"That  may  be  true,"  said  Lorraine,  somewhat  irritably, 
"  but  you  had  better  be  careful  how  you  air  your  North- 
ern notions  in  public." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  Because  public  opinion  is  too  sensitive  to  tolerate 
any  such  discussions." 

"And  is  not  that  a  proof  that  we  are  at  fault  with 
respect  to  our  institutions?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  only  know  we  are  living  in  the 
midst  of  a  magazine  of  powder,  and  it  is  not  safe  to  enter 
it  with  a  lighted  candle." 

"  Let  me  proceed  with  my  story,"  continued  Eugene. 
"During  the  long  months  in  which  I  was  convalescing, 
I  was  left  almost  entirely  to  the  companionship  of 
Marie.  In  my  library  I  found  a  Bible,  which  I  began 
to  read  from  curiosity,  but  my  curiosity  deepened  into 
interest  when  I  saw  the  rapt  expression  on  Marie's  face. 
I  saw  in  it  a  loving  response  to  sentiments  to  which  I 
was  a  stranger.  In  the  meantime  my  conscience  was 
awakened,  and  I  scorned  to  take  advantage  of  her  de- 
fenselessness.  I  felt  that  I  owed  my  life  to  her  faithful 
care,  and  I  resolved  to  take  her  North,  manumit,  edu- 
cate, and  marry  her.  I  sent  her  to  a  Northern  academy, 
out  as  soon  as  some  of  the  pupils  found  that  she  was 
colored,  objections  were  raised,  and  the  principal  was 
compelled  to  dismiss  her.  During  my  search  for  a 
school  I  heard  of  one  where  three  girls  of  mixed  blood 
were  pursuing  their  studies,  every  one  of  whom  would 
have  been  ignominiously  dismissed  had  their  connection 
with  the  negro  race  been  known.     But  I  determined  to 


72  IOLA   LEROY, 

run  no  risks.  I  found  a  school  where  her  connection 
with  the  negro  race  would  be  no  bar  to  her  advance- 
ment. She  graduates  next  week,  and  I  intend  to  marry 
her  before  I  return  home.  She  was  faithful  when  others 
were  faithless,  stood  by  me  when  others  deserted  me  to 
die  in  loneliness  and  neglect,  and  now  I  am  about  to  re- 
ward her  care  with  all  the  love  and  devotion  it  is  in  my 
power  to  bestow.  That  is  why  I  am  about  to  marry 
my  faithful  and  devoted  nurse,  who  snatched  me  from 
the  jaws  of  death.  Now  that  I  have  told  you  my 
story,  what  say  you  ?  " 

"  Madness  and  folly  inconceivable  !  "  exclaimed  Lor- 
raine. 

"  What  to  you  is  madness  and  folly  is  perfect  sanity 
with  me.  After  all,  Alf,  is  there  not  an  amount  of  un- 
reason in  our  prejudices  ?  " 

"  That  may  be  true ;  but  I  wasn't  reasoned  into  it, 
and  I  do  not  expect  to  be  reasoned  out  of  it." 

"  Will  you  accompany  me  North  ?  " 

"No;  except  to  put  you  in  an  insane  asylum.  You 
are  the  greatest  crank  out,"  said  Lorraine,  thoroughly 
disgusted. 

"  No,  thank  you  ;  I'm  all  right.  I  expect  to  start 
North  to-morrow.     You  had  better  come  and  go." 

"  I  would  rather  follow  you  to  your  grave,"  replied 
Lorraine,  hotly,  while  an  expression  of  ineffable  scorn 
passed  over  his  cold,  proud  face. 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  73 

CHAPTER  X.  I 

SHADOWS   IN   THE   HOME. 

On  the  next  morning  after  this  conversation  Leroy 
left  for  the  North,  to  attend  the  commencement  and 
witness  the  graduation  of  his  ward.  Arriving  in  Ohio, 
he  immediately  repaired  to  the  academy  and  inquired 
for  the  principal.  He  was  shown  into  the  reception- 
room,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  principal  entered. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Leroy,  rising  and  advancing 
towards  him  ;  "  how  is  my  ward  this  morning  ?  " 

"  She  is  well,  and  has  been  expecting  you.  I  am 
glad  you  came  in  time  for  the  commencement.  She 
stands  among  the  foremost  in  her  class." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  Will  you  send  her  this  ?  "  said 
Leroy,  handing  the  principal  a  card.  The  principal  took 
the  card  and  immediately  left  the  room. 

Very  soon  Leroy  heard  a  light  step,  and  looking  up 
he  saw  a  radiantly  beautiful  woman  approaching  him. 

"  Good  morning,  Marie,"  he  said,  greeting  her  cor- 
dially, and  gazing  upon  her  with  unfeigned  admiration. 
"  You  are  looking  very  handsome  this  morning." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling  and  blushing. 
"  I  am  glad  you  are  not  disappointed  ;  that  you  do  not 
feel  your  money  has  been  spent  in  vain." 

"  Oh,  no,  what  I  have  spent  on  your  education  has  been 
the  best  investment  I  ever  made." 

"I  hope,"  said  Marie,  "you  may  always  find  it  so. 
But  Mas " 


74  IOLA    LEROY, 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Leroy,  laying  his  hand  playfully  on  her 
lips  ;  "  you  are  free.  I  don't  want  the  dialect  of  slavery 
to  linger  on  your  lips.  You  must  not  call  me  that  name 
again." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  a  nearer  and  dearer  one  by  which  I 
wish  to  be  called." 

Leroy  drew  her  nearer,  and  whispered  in  her  ear  a 
single  word.  She  started,  trembled  with  emotion,  grew 
pale,  and  blushed  painfully.  An  awkward  silence  en- 
sued, when  Leroy,  pressing  her  hand,  exclaimed  :  "  This 
is  the  hand  that  plucked  me  from  the  grave,  and  I  am 
going  to  retain  it  as  mine  ;  mine  to  guard  with  my  care 
until  death  us  do  part." 

Leroy  looked  earnestly  into  her  eyes,  which  fell  be- 
neath his  ardent  gaze.  With  admirable  self-control, 
while  a  great  joy  was  thrilling  her  heart,  she  bowed  her 
beautiful  head  and  softly  repeated,  "  Until  death  us  do 
part." 

Leroy  knew  Southern  society  too  well  to  expect  it  to 
condone  his  offense  against  its  social  customs,  or  give 
the  least  recognition  to  his  wife,  however  cultured,  re- 
fined, and  charming  she  might  be,  if  it  were  known  that 
she  had  the  least  infusion  of  negro  blood  in  her  veins. 
But  he  was  brave  enough  to  face  the  consequences  of 
his  alliance,  and  marry  the  woman  who  was  the  choice 
of  his  heart,  and  on  whom  his  affections  were  centred. 

After  Leroy  had  left  the  room,  Marie  sat  awhile 
thinking  of  the  wonderful  change  that  had  come  over 
her.  Instead  of  being  a  lonely  slave  girl,  with  the  fatal 
dower  of  beauty,  liable  to  be  bought  and  sold,  exchanged, 
and  bartered,  she  was  to  be  the  wife  of  a  wealthy  planter; 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  75 

a  man  in  whose  honor  she  could  confide,  and  on  whose 
love  she  could  lean. 

Very  interesting  and  pleasant  were  the  commence- 
ment exercises  in  which  Marie  bore  an  important  part. 
To  enlist  sympathy  for  her  enslaved  race,  and  appear  to 
advantage  before  Leroy,  had  aroused  all  of  her  energies. 
The  stimulus  of  hope,  the  manly  love  which  was  envi- 
roning her  life,  brightened  her  eye  and  lit  up  the  wonder- 
ful beauty  of  her  countenance.  During  her  stay  in  the 
North  she  had  constantly  been  brought  in  contact  with 
anti-slavery  people.  She  was  not  aware  that  there  was 
so  much  kindness  among  the  white  people  of  the 
country  until  she  had  tested  it  in  the  North.  From  the 
anti-slavery  people  in  private  life  she  had  learned  some 
of  the  noblest  lessons  of  freedom  and  justice,  and  had 
become  imbued  with  their  sentiments.  Her  theme  was 
"American  Civilization,  its  Lights  and  Shadows." 

Graphically  she  portrayed  the  lights,  faithfully  she 
showed  the  shadows  of  our  American  civilization. 
Earnestly  and  feelingly  she  spoke  of  the  blind  Sampson 
in  our  land,  who  might  yet  shake  the  pillars  of  our  great 
Commonwealth.  Leroy  listened  attentively.  At  times 
a  shadow  of  annoyance  would  overspread  his  face,  but  it 
was  soon  lost  in  the  admiration  her  earnestness  and  zeal 
inspired.  Like  Esther  pleading  for  the  lives  of  her  peo- 
ple in  the  Oriental  courts  of  a  despotic  king,  she  stood 
before  the  audience,  pleading  for  those  whose  lips  were 
sealed,  but  whose  condition  appealed  to  the  mercy  and 
justice  of  the  Nation.  Strong  men  wiped  the  moisture 
from  their  eyes,  and  women's  hearts  throbbed  in  unison 
with  the  strong,  brave  words  that  were  uttered  in  be- 
half of  freedom  for  all  and  chains  for  none.     Generous, 


"j6  IOLA   LEROY, 

applause  was  freely  bestowed,  and  beautiful  bouquets 
were  showered  upon  her.  When  it  was  known  that  she 
was  to  be  the  wife  of  her  guardian,  warm  congratulations 
were  given,  and  earnest  hopes  expressed  for  the  welfare 
of  the  lonely  girl,  who,  nearly  all  her  life,  had  been  de- 
prived of  a  parent's  love  and  care.  On  the  eve  of  start- 
ing South  Leroy  procured  a  license,  and  united  his  des- 
tiny with  the  young  lady  whose  devotion  in  the  darkest 
hour  had  won  his  love  and  gratitude. 

In  a  few  days  Marie  returned  as  mistress  to  the  plan- 
tation from  which  she  had  gone  as  a  slave.  But  as 
unholy  alliances  were  common  in  those  days  between 
masters  and  slaves,  no  one  took  especial  notice  that 
Marie  shared  Leroy's  life  as  mistress  of  his  home,  and 
that  the  family  silver  and  jewelry  were  in  her  possession. 
But  Leroy,  happy  in  his  choice,  attended  to  the  inter- 
ests of  his  plantation,  and  found  companionship  in  his 
books  and  in  the  society  of  his  wife.  A  few  male  com< 
panions  visited  him  occasionally,  admired  the  magnifi- 
cent beauty  of  his  wife,  shook  their  heads,  and  spoke  of 
him  as  being  very  eccentric,  but  thought  his  marriage 
the  great  mistake  of  his  life.  But  none  of  his  female 
friends  ever  entered  his  doors,  when  it  became  known 
that  Marie  held  the  position  of  mistress  of  his  mansion, 
and  presided  at  his  table.  But  she,  sheltered  in  the 
warm  clasp  of  loving  arms,  found  her  life  like  a  joyous 
dream. 

Into  that  quiet  and  beautiful  home  three  children 
were  born,  unconscious  of  the  doom  suspended  over 
their  heads. 

"Oh,  how  glad  I  am,"  Marie  would  often  say,  "that 
these  children  are  free."    I  could  never  understand  how 


OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  •JJ 

a  cultured  white  man  could  have  his  own  children  en- 
slaved. I  can  understand  how  savages,  fighting  with 
each  other,  could  doom  their  vanquished  foes  to  slavery, 
but  it  has  always  been  a  puzzle  to  me  how  a  civilized 
man  could  drag  his  own  children,  bone  of  his  bone, 
flesh  of  his  flesh,  down  to  the  position  of  social  outcasts, 
abject  slaves,  and  political  pariahs." 

"But,  Marie,"  said  Eugene,  "all  men  do  not  treat 
their  illegitimate  children  in  the  manner  you  describe. 
The  last  time  I  was  in  New  Orleans  I  met  Henri 
Augustine  at  the  depot,  with  two  beautiful  young  girls. 
At  first  I  thought  that  they  were  his  own  children,  they 
resembled  him  so  closely.  But  afterwards  I  noticed 
that  they  addressed  him  as  'Mister.'  Before  we  parted 
he  told  me  that  his  wife  had  taken  such  a  dislike  to 
their  mother  that  she  could  not  bear  to  see  them  on 
the  place.  At  last,  weary  of  her  dissatisfaction,  he  had 
promised  to  bring  them  to  New  Orleans  and  sell  them. 
Instead,  he  was  going  to  Ohio  to  give  them  their  free- 
dom, and  make  provision  for  their  future." 

"  What  a  wrong  !  "  said  Marie. 

"  Who  was  wronged  ?  "  said  Leroy,  in  astonishment. 

"  Everyone  in  the  whole  transaction,"  answered  Marie. 
"Your  friend  wronged  himself  by  sinning  against  his 
own  soul.  He  wronged  his  wife  by  arousing  her  hatred 
and  jealousy  through  his  unfaithfulness.  He  wronged 
those  children  by  giving  them  the  status  of  slaves  and 
outcasts.  He  wronged  their  mother  by  imposing  upon 
her  the  burdens  and  cares  of  maternity  without  the  rights 
and  privileges  of  a  wife.  He  made  her  crown  of  mother- 
hood a  circlet  of  shame.  Under  other  circumstances  she 
might  have  been  an  honored  wife  and  happy  mother. 


78  IOLA   LEROY, 

And  I  do  think  such  men  wrong  their  own  legitimate 
children  by  transmitting  to  them  a  weakened  moral 
fibre." 

"  Oh,  Marie,  you  have  such  an  uncomfortable  way  of 
putting  things.  You  make  me  feel  that  we  have  done 
those  things  which  we  ought  not  to  have  done,  and  have 
left  undone  those  things  which  we  ought  to  have  done." 

."If  it  annoys  you,"  said  Marie,  "I  will  stop  talking." 

"  Oh,  no,  go  on,"  said  Leroy,  carelessly;  and  then  he 
continued  more  thoughtfully,  "  I  know  a  number  of 
men  who  have  sent  such  children  North,  and  manu- 
mitted, educated,  and  left  them  valuable  legacies.  We 
are  all  liable  to  err,  and,  having  done  wrong,  all  we  can 
do  is  to  make  reparation." 

"  My  dear  husband,  this  is  a  wrong  where  reparation 
is  impossible.  Neither  wealth  nor  education  can  repair 
the  wrong  of  a  dishonored  birth.  There  are  a  number 
of  slaves  in  this  section  who  are  servants  to  their  own 
brothers  and  sisters;  whose  fathers  have  robbed  them 
not  simply  of  liberty  but  of  the  right  of  being  well  born. 
Do  you  think  these  things  will  last  forever?" 

"  I  suppose  not.  There  are  some  prophets  of  evil  who 
tell  us  that  the  Union  is  going  to  dissolve.  But  I  know 
it  would  puzzle  their  brains  to  tell  where  the  crack  will 
begin.  I  reckon  we'll  continue  to  jog  along  as  usual. 
'  Cotton  fights,  and  cotton  conquers  for  American  slav- 
ery.'" 

Even  while  Leroy  dreamed  of  safety  the  earthquake 
was  cradling  its  fire  ;  the  ground  was  growing  hollow  be- 
neath his  tread;  but  his  ear  was  too  dull  to  catch  the 
sound;  his  vision  too  blurred  to  read  the  signs  of  the 
times. 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  79 

"  Marie,"  said  Leroy,  taking  up  the  thread  of  the  dis- 
course, "slavery  is  a  sword  that  cuts  both  ways.  If  it 
wrongs  the  negro,  it  also  curses  the  white  man.  But  we 
are  in  it,  and  what  can  we  do  ?  " 

"Get  out  of  it  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"That  is  easier  said  than  done.  I  would  willingly 
free  every  slave  on  my  plantation  if  I  could  do  so  with- 
out expatriating  them.  Some  of  them  have  w.Ves  and 
children  on  other  plantations,  and  to  free  them  is  to 
separate  them  from  their  kith  and  kin.  To  let  them  re- 
main here  as  a  free  people  is  out  of  the  question.  My 
hands  are  tied  by  law  and  custom." 

"Who  tied  them?"  asked  Marie. 

"A  public  opinion,  whose  meshes  I  cannot  break.  If 
the  negro  is  the  thrall  of  his  master,  we  are  just  as 
much  the  thralls  of  public  opinion." 

"Why  do  you  not  battle  against  public  opinion,  if  you 
think  it  is  wrong  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  neither  the  courage  of  a  martyr,  nor 
the  faith  of  a  saint ;  and  so  I  drift  along,  trying  to  make 
the  condition  of  our  slaves  as  comfortable  as  I  possibly 
can.  I  believe  there  are  slaves  on  this  plantation  whom 
the  most  flattering  offers  of  freedom  would  not  entice 
away." 

"I  do  not  think,"  said  Marie,  "that  some  of  you 
planters  understand  your  own  slaves.  Lying  is  said  to 
be  the  vice  of  slaves.  The  more  intelligent  of  them 
have  so  learned  to  veil  their  feelings  that  you  do  not 
see  the  undercurrent  of  discontent  beneath  their  appar- 
ent good  humor  and  jollity.  The  more  discontented 
they  are,  the  more  I  respect  them.  To  me  a  contented 
slave  is  an  abject  creature.     I  hope  that  I  shall  see  the 


80  IOLA   LEROY, 

day  when  there  will  not  be  a  slave  in  the  land.  I  hats 
the  whole  thing  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart." 

"  Marie,  your  Northern  education  has  unfitted  you  for 
Southern  life.  You  are  free,  yourself,  and  so  are  our 
children.     Why  not  let  well  enough  alone?" 

"  Because  I  love  liberty,  not  only  for  myself  but  for 
every  human  being.  Think  how  dear  these  children  are 
to  me ;  and  then  for  the  thought  to  be  forever  haunting 
me,  that  if  you  were  dead  they  could  be  turned  out  of 
doors  and  divided  among  your  relatives.  I  sometimes 
lie  awake  at  night  thinking  of  how  there  might  be  a  screw 
loose  somewhere,  and,  after  all,  the  children  and  I  might 
be  reduced  to  slavery." 

"  Marie,  what  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
Have  you  had  a  presentiment  of  my  death,  or,  as  Uncle 
Jack  says,  '  hab  you  seed  it  in  a  vision  ? !  " 

"  No,  but  I  have  had  such  sad  forebodings  that  they 
almost  set  me  wild.  One  night  I  dreamt  that  you  were 
dead ;  that  the  lawyers  entered  the  house,  seized  our 
property,  and  remanded  us  to  slavery.  I  never  can  be 
satisfied  in  the  South  with  such  a  possibility  hanging 
over  my  head." 

"  Marie,  dear,  you  are  growing  nervous.  Your  imagi- 
nation is  too  active.  You  are  left  too  much  alone  on  this 
plantation.  I  hope  that  for  your  own  and  the  children's 
sake  I  will  be  enabled  to  arrange  our  affairs  so  as  to  find 
a  home  for  you  where  you  will  not  be  doomed  to  the 
social  isolation  and  ostracism  that  surround  you  here." 

"  I  don't  mind  the  isolation  for  myself,  but  the  chil- 
dren. You  have  enjoined  silence  on  me  with  respect  to 
their  connection  with  the  negro  race,  but  I  do  not  think 
we  can  conceal  it  from  them  very  long.     It  will  not  be 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  8 1 

long  before  Iola  will  notice  the  offishncss  cf  girls  of  her 
own  age,  and  the  scornful  glances  which,  even,  now,  1 
think,  are  leveled  at  her.  Yesterday  Harry  came  cry- 
ing to  me,  and  told  me  that  one  of  the  neighbor's  boys 
had  called  him  'nigger.'" 

A  shadow  flitted  over  Leroy's  face,  as  he  answered, 
somewhat  soberly,  "Oh,  Marie,  do  not  meet  trouble  half 
way.  I  have  manumitted  you,  and  the  children  will  fol- 
low your  condition.  I  have  made  you  all  legatees  of 
my  will.  Except  my  cousin,  Alfred  Lorraine,  I  have 
only  distant  relatives,  whom  I  scarcely  know  and  who 
hardly  know  me." 

"  Your  cousin  Lorraine  ?  Are  you  sure  our  interests 
would  be  safe  in  his  hands  ?  " 

"  I  think  so  ;  I  don't  think  Alfred  would  do  anything 
dishonorable." 

"  He  might  not  with  his  equals.  But  how  many 
men  would  be  bound  by  a  sense  of  honor  where  the 
rights  of  a  colored  woman  are  in  question  ?  Your  cousin 
was  bitterly  opposed  to  our  marriage,  and  I  would  not 
trust  any  important  interests  in  his  hands.  I  do  hope 
that  in  providing  for  our  future  you  will  make  assur- 
ance doubly  sure." 

"  I  certainly  will,  and  all  that  human  foresight  can  do 
shall  be  done  for  you  and  our  children."  , 

"  Oh,"  said  Marie,  pressing  to  her  heart  a  beautiful 
child  of  six  summers,  "  I  think  it  would  almost  make 
me  turn  over  in  my  grave  to  know  that  every  grace  and 
charm  which  this  child  possesses  would  only  be  so  much 
added  to  her  value  as  an  article  of  merchandise." 

As  Marie  released  the  child  from  her  arms  she  looked 
wonderingly  into  her  mother's  face  and  clung  closely  to 


82  IOLA   LEROV, 

her,  as  if  to  find  refuge  from  some  unseen  evil.  Leroy 
noticed  this,  and  sighed  unconsciously,  as  an  expression 
of  pain  flitted  over  his  face. 

"  Now,  Marie,"  he  continued,  "  stop  tormenting  your- 
self with  useless  fears.  Although,  with  all  her  faults,  I 
still  love  the  South,  I  will  make  arrangements  either  to 
live  North  or  go  to  France.  There  life  will  be  brighter 
for  us  all.  Now,  Marie,  seat  yourself  at  the  piano  and 
sing  :— 

'  Sing  me  the  songs  that  to  me  were  so  dear, 
Long,  long  ago. 
Sing  me  the  songs  I  delighted  to  hear, 
Long,  long  ago." 

As  Marie  sang  the  anxiety  faded  from  her  face,  a 
sense  of  security  stole  over  her,  and  she  sat  among  her 
loved  ones  a  happy  wife  and  mother.  What  if  no  one 
recognized  her  on  that  lonely  plantation !  Her  world 
was,  nevertheless,  there.  The  love  and  devotion  of  her 
husband  brightened  every  avenue  of  her  life,  while  her 
children  filled  her  home  with  music,  mirth,  and  sunshine. 

Marie  had  undertaken  their  education,  but  she  could 
not  give  them  the  culture  which  comes  from  the  attri- 
tion of  thought,  and  from  contact  with  the  ideas  of 
others.  Since  her  school-days  she  had  read  exten- 
sively and  thought  much,  and  in  solitude  her  thoughts 
had  ripened.  But  for  her  children  there  were  no  com- 
panions except  the  young  slaves  of  the  plantation,  and 
she  dreaded  the  effect  of  such  intercourse  upon  their 
lives  and  characters. 

Leroy  had  always  been  especially  careful  to  conceal 
from  his  children  the  knowledge  of  their  connection  with 
the  negro  race.     To  Marie  this  silence  was  oppressive. 


OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  83 

One  day  she  said  to  him,  "  I  see  no  other  way  of 
finishing  the  education  of  these  children  than  by  send- 
ing them  to  some  Northern  school." 

"  I  have  come,"  said  Leroy,  "  to  the  same  conclusion. 
We  had  better  take  Iola  and  Harry  North  and  make 
arrangements  for  them  to  spend  several  years  in  being 
educated.  Riches  take  wings  to  themselves  and  fly 
away,  but  a  good  education  is  an  investment  on  which 
the  law  can  place  no  attachment.  As  there  is  a  pos- 
sibility of  their  origin  being  discovered,  I  will  find  a 
teacher  to  whom  I  can  confide  our  story,  and  upon 
whom  I  can  enjoin  secrecy.  I  want  them  well  fitted 
for  any  emergency  in  life.  When  I  discover  for  what 
they  have  the  most  aptitude  I  will  give  them  especial 
training  in  that  direction." 

A  troubled  look  passed  over  the  face  of  Marie,  as 
she  hesitatingly  said  :  "  I  am  so  afraid  that  you  will 
regret  our  marriage  when  you  fully  realize  the  compli- 
cations it  brings." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Leroy,  tenderly,  "  it  is  not  that  I  re- 
gret our  marriage,  or  feel  the  least  disdain  for  our  chil- 
dren on  account  of  the  blood  in  their  veins;  but  I  do 
not  wish  them  to  grow  up  under  the  contracting  influ- 
ence of  this  race  prejudice.  I  do  not  wish  them  to  feel 
that  they  have  been  born  under  a  proscription  from 
which  no  valor  can  redeem  them,  nor  that  any  social 
advancement  or  individual  development  can  wipe  off 
the  ban  which  clings  to  them.  No,  Marie,  let  them  go 
North,  learn  all  they  can,  aspire  all  they  may.  The  pain- 
ful knowledge  will  come  all  too  soon.  Do  not  forestall 
it.  I  want  them  simply  to  grow  up  as  other  children ; 
not  being  patronized  by  friends  nor  disdained  by  foes." 


84  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  My  dear  husband,  you  may  be  perfectly  right,  but 
are  you  not  preparing  our  children  for  a  fearful  awaken- 
ing? Are  you  not  acting  on  the  plan,  'After  me  the 
deluge?'" 

"  Not  at  all,  Marie.  I  want  our  children  to  grow  up 
without  having  their  self-respect  crushed  in  the  bud. 
You  know  that  the  North  is  not  free  from  racial  preju- 
dice." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Marie,  sadly,  "and  I  think  one  of 
the  great  mistakes  of  our  civilization  is  that  which 
makes  color,  and  not  character,  a  social  test." 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  said  Leroy.  "  The  strongest  men 
and  women  of  a  down-trodden  race  may  bare  their 
bosoms  to  an  adverse  fate  and  develop  courage  in  the 
midst  of  opposition,  but  Ave  have  no  right  to  subject  our 
children  to  such  crucial  tests  before  their  characters  are 
formed.  For  years,  when  I  lived  abroad,  I  had  an  op- 
portunity  to  see  and  hear  of  men  of  African  descent 
who  had  distinguished  themselves  and  obtained  a  recog- 
nition in  European  circles,  which  they  never  could  have 
gained  in  this  country.  I  now  recall  the  name  of  Ira 
Aldridge,  a  colored  man  from  New  York  City,  who  was 
covered  with  princely  honors  as  a  successful  tragedian. 
Alexander  Dumas  was  not  forced  to  conceal  his  origin 
to  succeed  as  a  novelist.  When  I  was  in  St.  Peters- 
burg I  was  shown  the  works  of  Alexander  Sergevitch, 
a  Russian  poet,  who  was  spoken  of  as  the  Byron  of 
Russian  literature,  and  reckoned  one  of  the  finest 
poets  that  Russia  has  produced  in  this  century.  He 
Avas  also  a  prominent  figure  in  fashionable  society,  and 
yet  he  Avas  of  African  lineage.  One  of  his  paternal  an- 
cestors was  a  negro  who  had  been  ennobled  by  Peter  the 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  85 

Great.  I  can't  help  contrasting  the  recognition  which 
these  men  had  received  with  the  treatment  which  has 
been  given  to  Frederick  Douglass  and  other  intelligent 
colored  men  in  this  country.  With  me  the  wonder  is 
not  that  they  have  achieved  so  little,  but  that  they 
have  accomplished  so  much.  No,  Marie,  we  will  have 
our  children  educated  without  being  subjected  to  the 
depressing  influences  of  caste  feeling.  Perhaps  by  the 
time  their  education  is  finished  I  will  be  ready  to  wind 
up  my  affairs  and  take  them  abroad,  where  merit  and 
ability  will  give  them  entrance  into  the  best  circles  of 
art,  literature,  and  science." 

After  this  conversation  Leroy  and  his  wife  went 
North,  and  succeeded  in  finding  a  good  school  for 
their  children.  In  a  private  interview  he  confided  to 
the  principal  the  story  of  the  cross  in  their  blood,  and, 
finding  him  apparently  free  from  racial  prejudice,  he 
gladly  left  the  children  in  his  care.  Gracie,  the  young- 
est child,  remained  at  home,  and  her  mother  spared  no 
pains  to  fit  her  for  the  seminary  against  the  time  her 
sister  should  have  finished  her  education. 


86  IOLA   LEROY, 

CHAPTER  XL 

THE   PLAGUE   AND   THE   LAW. 

YEARS  passed,  bringing  no  special  change  to  the  life 
of  Leroy  and  his  wife.  Shut  out  from  the  busy  world, 
its  social  cares  and  anxieties,  Marie's  life  flowed  peace- 
fully on.  Although  removed  by  the  protecting  care  of 
Leroy  from  the  condition  of  servitude,  she  still  retained 
a  deep  sympathy  for  the  enslaved,  and  was  ever  ready 
to  devise  plans  to  ameliorate  their  condition. 

Leroy,  although  in  the  midst  of  slavery,  did  not  be- 
lieve in  the  rightfulness  of  the  institution.  He  was  in 
favor  of  gradual  emancipation,  which  would  prepare 
both  master  and  slave  for  a  moral  adaptation  to  the 
new  conditions  of  freedom.  While  he  was  willing  to 
have  the  old  rivets  taken  out  of  slavery,  politicians 
and  planters  were  devising  plans  to  put  in  new  screws. 
He  was  desirous  of  having  it  ended  in  the  States  ■ 
they  were  clamorous  to  have  it  established  in  the  Ter- 
ritories. 

But  so  strong  was  the  force  of  habit,  combined  with 
the  feebleness  of  his  moral  resistance  and  the  nature 
of  his  environment,  that  instead  of  being  an  athlete, 
armed  for  a  glorious  strife,  he  had  learned  to  drift 
where  he  should  have  steered,  to  float  with  the  current 
instead  of  nobly  breasting  the  tide.  He  conducted  his 
plantation  with  as  much  lenity  as  it  was  possible  to 
infuse  into  a  system  darkened  with  the  shadow  of  a 
million  crimes. 


OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  87 

Leroy  had  always  been  especially  careful  not  to  allow 
his  children  to  spend  their  vacations  at  home.  He  and 
Marie  generally  spent  that  time  with  them  at  some  sum- 
mer resort. 

"  I  would  like,"  said  Marie,  one  day,  "  to  have  our 
children  spend  their  vacations  at  home.  Those  summer 
resorts  are  pleasant,  yet,  after  all,  there  is  no  place  like 
home.  But,"  and  her  voice  became  tremulous,  "our 
children  would  now  notice  their  social  isolation  and 
inquire  the  cause."  A  faint  sigh  arose  to  the  lips  of 
Leroy,  as  she  added :  "  Man  is  a  social  being ;  I've 
known  it  to  my  sorrow." 

There  was  a  tone  of  sadness  in  Leroy's  voice,  as  he  re- 
plied :  "Yes,  Marie,  let  them  stay  North.  We  seem  to 
be  entering  on  a  period  fraught  with  great  danger.  I 
cannot  help  thinking  and  fearing  that  we  are  on  the 
eve  of  a  civil  war." 

"A  civil  war !  "  exclaimed  Marie,  with  an  air  of  aston- 
ishment.    "A  civil  war  about  what  ?" 

"Why,  Marie,  the  thing  looks  to  me  so  wild  and  fool- 
ish I  hardly  know  how  to  explain.  But  some  of  our 
leading  men  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  North 
and  South  had  better  separate,  and  instead  of  having 
one  to  have  two  independent  governments.  The  spirit 
of  secession  is  rampant  in  the  land.  I  do  not  know  what 
the  result  will  be,  and  I  fear  it  will  bode  no  good  to  the 
country.  Between  the  fire-eating  Southerners  and  the 
meddling  Abolitionists  we  are  about  to  be  plunged  into 
a  great  deal  of  trouble.  I  fear  there  are  breakers  ahead. 
The  South  is  dissatisfied  with  the  state  of  public  opin- 
ion in  the  North.  We  are  realizing  that  we  are  two 
peoples  in  the  midst  of  one  nation.    William  H.  Seward 


88  IOLA   LEROY, 

has  proclaimed  that  the  conflict  between  freedom  and 
slavery  is  irrepressible,  and  that  the  country  cannot  re- 
main half  free  and  half  slave." 

"  How  will  you  go  ?  "  asked  Marie. 

"  My  heart  is  with  the  Union.  I  don't  believe  in 
secession.  There  has  been  no  cause  sufficient  to  jus- 
tify a  rupture.  The  North  has  met  us  time  and  again 
in  the  spirit  of  concession  and  compromise.  When  we 
wanted  the  continuance  of  the  African  slave  trade  the 
North  conceded  that  we  should  have  twenty  years  of 
slave-trading  for  the  benefit  of  our  plantations.  When 
we  wanted  more  territory  she  conceded  to  our  desires 
and  gave  us  land  enough  to  carve  out  four  States,  and 
there  yet  remains  enough  for  four  more.  When  we 
wanted  power  to  recapture  our  slaves  when  they  fled 
North  for  refuge,  Daniel  Webster  told  Northerners  to 
conquer  their  prejudices,  and  they  gave  us  the  whole 
Northern  States  as  a  hunting  ground  for  our  slaves. 
The  Presidential  chair  has  been  filled  the  greater  num- 
ber of  years  by  Southerners,  and  the  majority  of  offices 
has  been  shared  by  our  men.  We  wanted  representa- 
tion in  Congress  on  a  basis  which  would  include  our 
slaves,  and  the  North,  whose  suffrage  represents  only 
men,  gave  us  a  three-fifths  representation  for  our  slaves, 
whom  we  count  as  property.  I  think  the  step  will  be 
suicidal.  There  are  extremists  in  both  sections,  but  I 
hope,  between  them  both,  wise  counsels  and  measures 
will  prevail." 

Just  then  Alfred  Lorraine  was  ushered  into  the  room. 
Occasionally  he  visited  Leroy,  but  he  always  came  alone. 
His  wife  was  the  only  daughter  of  an  enterprising  slave- 
trader,  who  had  left  her  a  large  amount  of  property. 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  89 

Her  social  training  was  deficient,  her  education  lim- 
ited, but  she  was  too  proud  of  being  a  pure  white 
woman  to  enter  the  home  of  Leroy,  with  Marie  as  its 
presiding  genius.  Lorraine  tolerated  Marie's  presence 
as  a  necessary  evil,  while  to  her  he  always  seemed  like  a 
presentiment  of  trouble.  With  his  coming  a  shadow  fell 
upon  her  home,  hushing  its  music  and  darkening  its  sun- 
shine. A  sense  of  dread  oppressed  her.  There  came 
into  her  soul  an  intuitive  feeling  that  somehow  his  com- 
ing was  fraught  with  danger.  When  not  peering  around 
she  would  often  catch  his  eyes  bent  on  her  with  a  baleful 
expression. 

Leroy  and  his  cousin  immediately  fell  into  a  discus- 
sion on  the  condition  of  the  country.  Lorraine  was  a 
rank  Secessionist,  ready  to  adopt  the  most  extreme 
measures  of  the  leaders  of  the  movement,  even  to  the 
reopening  of  the  slave  trade.  Leroy  thought  a  disso- 
lution of  the  Union  would  involve  a  fearful  expenditure 
of  blood  and  treasure  for  which,  before  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  there  could  be  no  justification.  The  debate 
lasted  late  into  the  night,  leaving  both  Lorraine  and 
Leroy  just  as  set  in  their  opinions  as  they  were  before 
they  began.  Marie  listened  attentively  awhile,  then  ex- 
cused herself  and  withdrew. 

After  Lorraine  had  gone  Marie  said  :  "  There  is  some- 
thing about  your  cousin  that  fills  me  with  nameless 
dread.  I  always  feel  when  he  enters  the  room  as  if 
some  one  were  walking  over  my  grave.  I  do  wish  he 
would  stay  at  home." 

"  I  wish  so,  too,  since  he  disturbs  you.  But,  Marie, 
you  are  growing  nervous.  How  cold  your  hands  are. 
Don't  you  feel  well  ?  " 


90  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  am  only  a  little  faint.  I  wish  he  would 
never  come.  But,  as  he  does,  I  must  make  the  best 
of  it." 

"  Yes,  Marie,  treat  him  well  for  my  sake.  He  is  the 
only  relative  I  have  who  ever  darkens  our  doors." 

"  I  have  no  faith  in  his  friendship  for  either  myself  or 
my  children.  I  feel  that  while  he  makes  himself  agree- 
able to  you  he  hates  me  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart, 
and  would  do  anything  to  get  me  out  of  the  way.  Oh, 
I  am  so  glad  I  am  your  lawful  wife,  and  that  you  mar- 
ried me  before  you  brought  me  back  to  this  State !  I 
believe  that  if  you  were  gone  he  wouldn't  have  the  least 
scruple  against  trying  to  prove  our  marriage  invalid  and 
remanding  us  to  slavery." 

Leroy  looked  anxiously  and  soberly  at  his  wife,  and 
said  :  "  Marie,  I  do  not  think  so.  Your  life  is  too  lonely 
here.  Write  your  orders  to  New  Orleans,  get  what  you 
need  for  the  journey,  and  let  us  spend  the  summer  some- 
where in  the  North." 

Just  then  Marie's  attention  was  drawn  to  some  house- 
hold matters,  and  it  was  a  short  time  before  she  re- 
turned. 

"  Tom,"  continued  Leroy,  "  has  just  brought  the  mail, 
and  here  is  a  letter  from  Iola." 

Marie  noticed  that  he  looked  quite  sober  as  he  read, 
and  that  an  expression  of  vexation  was  lingering  on  his 
lips. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Marie. 

"  Nothing  much  ;  only  a  tempest  in  a  teapot.  The 
presence  of  a  colored  girl  in  Mr.  Galen's  school  has 
caused  a  breeze  of  excitement.  You  know  Mr.  Galen 
is  quite  an  Abolitionist,  and,  being  true  to  his  principles, 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  9 1 

he  could  not  consistently  refuse  when  a  colored  woman 
applied  for  her  daughter's  admission.  Of  course,  when 
he  took  her  he  was  compelled  to  treat  her  as  any  other 
pupil.  In  so  doing  he  has  given  mortal  offense  to  the 
mother  of  two  Southern  boys.  She  has  threatened  to 
take  them  away  if  the  colored  girl  remains." 

"What  will  he  do  about  it?"  asked  Marie,  thought- 
fully. 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  bitter  pill,  but  I  think  he  will  have  to 
swallow  it.  He  is  between  two  fires.  He  cannot  dis- 
miss her  from  the  school  and  be  true  to  his  Abolition 
principles;  yet  if  he  retains  her  he  will  lose  his  Southern 
customers,  and  I  know  he  cannot  afford  to  do  that." 

"  What  does  Iola  say  ?" 

"  He  has  found  another  boarding  place  for  her,  but 
she  is  to  remain  in  the  school.  He  had  to  throw  that 
sop  to  the  whale." 

"  Does  she  take  sides  against  the  girl  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  she  does.  She  says  she  feels  sorry 
for  her,  and  that  she  would  hate  to  be  colored.  '  It  is 
so  hard  to  be  looked  down  on  for  what  one  can't  help.' " 

"  Poor  child !  I  wish  we  could  leave  the  country.  I 
never  would  consent  to  her  marrying  any  one  without 
first  revealing  to  him  her  connection  with  the  negro  race. 
This  is  a  subject  on  which  I  am  not  willing  to  run  any 
risks." 

"  My  dear  Marie,  when  you  shall  have  read  Iola's  let- 
ter you  will  see  it  is  more  than  a  figment  of  my  imagina- 
tion that  has  made  me  so  loth  to  have  our  children 
know  the  paralyzing  power  of  caste." 

Leroy,  always  liberal  with  his  wife  and  children,  spared 
neither  pains  nor  expense  to  have  them  prepared  for 


92  IOLA   LEROY, 

their  summer  outing.  Iola  was  to  graduate  in  a  few 
days.  Harry  was  attending  a  school  in  the  State  of 
Maine,  and  his  father  had  written  to  him,  apprising 
him  of  his  intention  to  come  North  that  season.  In 
a  few  days  Leroy  and  his  wife  started  North,  but  be- 
fore they  reached  Vicksburg  they  were  met  by  the  in- 
telligence that  the  yellow  fever  was  spreading  in  the 
Delta,  and  that  pestilence  was  breathing  its  bane  upon 
the  morning  air  and  distilling  its  poison  upon  the  mid- 
night dews. 

"  Let  us  return  home,"  said  Marie. 

"  It  is  useless,"  answered  Leroy.  "  It  is  nearly  two 
days  since  we  left  home.  The  fever  is  spreading  south 
of  us  with  fearful  rapidity.  To  return  home  is  to  walk 
into  the  jaws  of  death.  It  was  my  intention  to  have 
stopped  at  Vicksburg,  but  now  I  will  go  on  as  soon  as  I 
can  make  the  connections." 

Early  next  morning  Leroy  and  his  wife  started  again 
on  their  journey.  The  cars  were  filled  with  terror- 
stricken  people  who  were  fleeing  from  death,  when 
death  was  everywhere.  They  fled  from  the  city  only 
to  meet  the  dreaded  apparition  in  the  country.  As 
they  journeyed  on  Leroy  grew  restless  and  feverish. 
He  tried  to  brace  himself  against  the  infection  which 
was  creeping  slowly  but  insidiously  into  his  life,  dull- 
ing his  brain,  fevering  his  blood,  and  prostrating  his 
strength.  But  vain  were  all  his  efforts.  He  had  no 
armor  strong  enough  to  repel  the  invasion  of  death. 
They  stopped  at  a  small  town  on  the  way  and  obtained 
the  best  medical  skill  and  most  careful  nursing,  but 
neither  skill  nor  art  availed.  On  the  third  day  death 
claimed  Leroy  as  a  victim,  and  Marie  wept  in  hopeless 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  93 

agony  over  the  grave  of  her  devoted  husband,  whose 
sad  lot  it  was  to  die  from  home  and  be  buried  among 
strangers. 

But  before  he  died  he  placed  his  will  in  Marie's 
hands,  saying :  "  I  have  left  you  well  provided  for. 
Kiss  the  children  for  me  and  bid  them  good-bye." 

He  tried  to  say  a  parting  word  to  Gracie,  but  his 
voice  failed,  and  he  fainted  into  the  stillness  of  death. 
A  mortal  paleness  overspread  his  countenance,  on  which 
had  already  gathered  the  shadows  that  never  deceive. 
In  speechless  agony  Marie  held  his  hand  until  it  re- 
leased its  pressure  in  death,  and  then  she  stood  alone 
beside  her  dead,  with  all  the  bright  sunshine  of  her  life 
fading  into  the  shadows  of  the  grave!  Heart-broken 
and  full  of  fearful  forebodings,  Marie  left  her  cherished 

dead  in  the  quiet  village  of  H and  returned  to  her 

death-darkened  home. 

It  was  a  lovely  day  in  June,  birds  were  singing  their 
sweetest  songs,  flowers  were  breathing  their  fragrance  on 
the  air,  when  Mam  Liza,  sitting  at  her  cabin-door,  talk- 
ing with  some  of  the  house  servants,  saw  a  carriage  ap- 
proaching, and  wondered  who  was  coming. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  excitedly,  "  whose  comin'  to  de 
house  when  de  folks  is  done  gone." 

But  her  surprise  was  soon  changed  to  painful  amaze- 
ment, when  she  saw  Marie,  robed  in  black,  alighting 
from  the  carriage,  and  holding  Gracie  by  the  hand. 
She  caught  sight  of  the  drooping  head  and  grief-stricken 
face,  and  rushed  to  her,  exclaiming : — 

"  Whar's  Marse  Eugene  ?  " 

"  Dead,"  said  Marie,  falling  into  Mammy  Liza's 
arms,  sobbing  out,  "  dead  !  he  died  of  yellow  fever." 


94  IOLA   LEROY, 

A  wild  burst  of  sorrow  came  from  the  lips  of  the  ser- 
vants, who  had  drawn  near. 

"  Where  is  he  ? "  said  Mam  Liza,  speaking  like  one 
suddenly  bewildered. 

"  He  is  buried   in   H .     I   could    not   bring  him 

home,"  said  Marie. 

"  My  pore  baby,"  said  Mam  Liza,  with  broken  sobs. 
"  I'se  drefful  sorry.  My  heart's  most  broke  into  two." 
Then,  controlling  herself,  she  dismissed  the  servants 
who  stood  around,  weeping,  and  led  Marie  to  her 
room. 

"  Come,  honey,  lie  down  an'  lem'me  git  yer  a  cup  ob 
tea." 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  don't  want  anything,"  said  Marie,  wring- 
ing her  hands  in  bitter  agony. 

"Oh,  honey,"  said  Mam  Liza,  ;'yer  musn't  gib  up. 
Yer  knows  whar  to  put  yer  trus'.  Yer  can't  lean  on  de 
arm  of  flesh  in  dis  tryin'  time."  Kneeling  by  the  side 
of  her  mistress  she  breathed  out  a  prayer  full  of  tender- 
ness, hope,  and  trust. 

Marie  grew  calmer.  It  seemed  as  if  that  earnest, 
trustful  prayer  had  breathed  into  her  soul  a  feeling  of 
resignation. 

Grade  stood  wonderingly  by,  vainly  trying  to  com- 
prehend the  great  sorrow  which  was  overwhelming  the 
life  of  her  mother. 

After  the  first  great  burst  of  sorrow  was  over,  Marie 
sat  down  to  her  desk  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Tola,  inform- 
ing her  of  her  father's  death.  By  the  time  she  had  fin- 
ished it  she  grew  dizzy  and  faint,  and  fell  into  a  swoon. 
Mammy  Liza  tenderly  laid  her  on  the  bed,  and  helped 
restore  her  to  consciousness. 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  95 

Lorraine,  having  heard  of  his  cousin's  death,  came  im- 
mediately to  see  Marie.  She  was  too  ill  to  have  an 
interview  with  him,  but  he  picked  up  the  letter  she  had 
written  and  obtained  Iola's  address. 

Lorraine  made  a  careful  investigation  of  the  case,  to 
ascertain  whether  Marie's  marriage  was  valid.  To  his 
delight  he  found  there  was  a  flaw  in  the  marriage  and 
an  informality  in  the  manumission.  He  then  deter- 
mined to  invalidate  Marie's  claim,  and  divide  the  in- 
heritance among  Leroy's  white  relations.  In  a  short 
time  strangers,  distant  relatives  of  her  husband,  became 
frequent  visitors  at  the  plantation,  and  made  themselves 
offensively  familiar.     At  length  the  dreadful  storm  burst. 

Alfred  Lorraine  entered  suit  for  his  cousin's  estate, 
and  for  the  remanding  of  his  wife  and  children  to 
slavery.  In  a  short  time  he  came  armed  with  legal  au- 
thority, and  said  to  Marie  : — ■ 

"  I  have  come  to  take  possession  of  these  premises." 

"By  what  authority?"  she  gasped,  turning  deathly 
pale.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  his  words  were  ar- 
rested by  a  sense  of  shame. 

"  By  what  authority  ?  "  she  again  demanded. 

"  By  the  authority  of  the  law,"  answered  Lorraine, 
"  which  has  decided  that  Leroy's  legal  heirs  are  his 
white  blood  relations,  and  that  your  marriage  is  null 
and  void." 

"  But,"  exclaimed  Marie,  "  I  have  our  marriage  certifi- 
cate.    I  was  Leroy's  lawful  wife." 

"  Your  marriage  certificate  is  not  worth  the  paper  it  is 
written  on." 

"  Oh,  you  must  be  jesting,  cruelly  jesting.  It  can't 
be  so." 


96  IOLA   LEROY, 

"Yes;  it  is  so.  Judge  Starkins  has  decided  that 
your  manumission  is  unlawful ;  your  marriage  a  bad  pre- 
cedent, and  inimical  to  the  welfare  of  society ;  and  that 
you  and  your  children  are  remanded  to  slavery." 

Marie  stood  as  one  petrified.  She  seemed  a  statue  of 
fear  and  despair.  She  tried  to  speak,  reached  out  her 
hand  as  if  she  were  groping  in  the  dark,  turned  pale  as 
death  as  if  all  the  blood  in  her  veins  had  receded  to  her 
heart,  and,  with  one  heart-rending  cry  of  bitter  agony, 
she  fell  senseless  to  the  floor.  Her  servants,  to  whom 
she  had  been  so  kind  in  her  days  of  prosperity,  bent 
pityingly  over  her,  chafed  her  cold  hands,  and  did  what 
they  could  to  restore  her  to  consciousness.  For  awhile 
she  was  stricken  with  brain  fever,  and  her  life  seemed 
trembling  on  its  frailest  cord. 

Gracie  was  like  one  perfectly  dazed.  When  not 
watching  by  her  mother's  bedside  she  wandered  aim- 
lessly about  the  house,  growing  thinner  day  by  day.  A 
slow  fever  was  consuming  her  life.  Faithfully  and  care- 
fully Mammy  Liza  watched  over  her,  and  did  all  she 
could  to  bring  smiles  to  her  lips  and  light  to  her  fading 
eyes,  but  all  in  vain.  Her  only  interest  in  life  was  to 
sit  where  she  could  watch  her  mother  as  she  tossed  to 
and  fro  in  delirium,  and  to  wonder  what  had  brought 
the  change  in  her  once  happy  home.  Finally  she,  too, 
was  stricken  with  brain  fever,  which  intervened  as  a 
mercy  between  her  and  the  great  sorrow  that  was  over- 
shadowing her  young  life.  Tears  would  fill  the  servants' 
eyes  as  they  saw  the  dear  child  drifting  from  them  like 
a  lovely  vision,  too  bright  for  earth's  dull  cares  and 
weary,  wasting  pain. 


OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  97 

CHAPTER  XII. 

SCHOOL-GIRL  NOTIONS. 

During  Iola's  stay  in  the  North  she  found  a  strong 
tide  of  opposition  against  slavery.  Arguments  against 
the  institution  had  entered  the  Church  and  made  legis- 
lative halls  the  arenas  of  fierce  debate.  The  subject  had 
become  part  of  the  social  converse  of  the  fireside,  and 
had  enlisted  the  best  brain  and  heart  of  the  country. 
Anti-slavery  discussions  were  pervading  the  strongest 
literature  and  claiming  a  place  on  the  most  popular  plat- 
forms. 

Iola,  being  a  Southern  girl  and  a  slave-holder's  daugh- 
ter, always  defended  slavery  when  it  was  under  discus- 
sion. 

"  Slavery  can't  be  wrong,"  she  would  say,  "  for  my 
father  is  a  slave-holder,  and  my  mother  is  as  good  to  our 
servants  as  she  can  be.  My  father  often  tells  her  that 
she  spoils  them,  and  lets  them  run  over  her.  I  never 
saw  my  father  strike  one  of  them.  I  love  my  mammy  as 
much  as  I  do  my  own  mother,  and  I  believe  she  loves 
us  just  as  if  we  were  her  own  children.  When  we  are 
sick  I  am  sure  that  she  could  not  do  anything  more  for 
us  than  she  does." 

"  But,  Iola,"  responded  one  of  her  school  friends, 
"  after  all,  they  are  not  free.  Would  you  be  satisfied 
to  have  the  most  beautiful  home,  the  costliest  jewels,  or 
the  most  elegant  wardrobe  if  you  were  a  slave  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  cases  are  not  parallel.     Our  slaves  do  not 


98  IOLA   LEKOY, 

want  their  freedom.  They  would  not  take  it  if  we  gave 
it  to  them." 

"  That  is  not  the  case  with  them  all.  My  father  has 
seen  men  who  have  encountered  almost  incredible  hard- 
ships to  get  their  freedom.  Iola,  did  you  ever  attend  an 
anti-slavery  meeting?" 

"  No  ;  I  don't  think  these  Abolitionists  have  any  right 
to  meddle  in  our  affairs.  I  believe  they  are  prejudiced 
against  us,  and  want  to  get  our  property.  I  read  about 
them  in  the  papers  when  I  was  at  home.  I  don't  want 
to  hear  my  part  of  the  country  run  down.  My  father 
says  the  slaves  would  be  very  well  contented  if  no  one 
put  wrong  notions  in  their  heads." 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  response  of  her  friend,  "  but 
I  do  not  think  that  that  slave  mother  who  took  her  four 
children,  crossed  the  Ohio  River  on  the  ice,  killed  one 
of  the  children  and  attempted  the  lives  of  the  other  two, 
was  a  contented  slave.  And  that  other  one,  who,  run- 
ning away  and  finding  herself  pursued,  threw  herself 
over  the  Long  Bridge  into  the  Potomac,  was  evidently 
not  satisfied.  I  do  not  think  the  numbers  who  are  com- 
ing North  on  the  Underground  Railroad  can  be  very 
contented.  It  is  not  natural  for  people  to  run  away 
from  happiness,  and  if  they  are  so  happy  and  contented, 
why  did  Congress  pass  the  Fugitive  Slave  Bill  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  think,"  answered  Iola,  "  any  of  our 
slaves  would  run  away.  I  know  mamma  don't  like 
slavery  very  much.  I  have  often  heard  her  say  that  she 
hoped  the  time  would  come  when  there  would  not  be  a 
slave  in  the  land.  My  father  does  not  think  as  she 
does.  He  thinks  slavery  is  not  wrong  if  you  treat  them 
well  and  don't  sell  them  from  their  families.     I  intend, 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  99 

after  I  have  graduated,  to  persuade  pa  to  buy  a  house 
in  New  Orleans,  and  spend  the  winter  there.  You  know 
this  will  be  my  first  season  out,  and  I  hope  that  you  will 
come  and  spend  the  winter  with  me.  We  will  have 
such  gay  times,  and  you  will  so  fall  in  love  with  our 
sunny  South  that  you  will  never  want  to  come  back  to 
shiver  amid  the  snows  and  cold  of  the  North.  I  think 
one  winter  in  the  South  would  cure  you  of  your  Aboli- 
tionism." 

"  Have  you  seen  her  yet  ?  " 

This  question  was  asked  by  Louis  Bastine,  an  attorney 
who  had  come  North  in  the  interests  of  Lorraine.  The 
scene  was  the  New  England  village  where  Mr.  Galen's 
academy  was  located,  and  which  Iola  was  attending. 
This  question  was  addressed  to  Camille  Lecroix,  Bas- 
tine's  intimate  friend,  who  had  lately  come  North.  He 
was  the  son  of  a  planter  who  lived  near  Leroy's  planta- 
tion, and  was  familiar  with  Iola's  family  history.  Since 
his  arrival  North,  Bastine  had  met  him  and  communi- 
cated to  him  his  intentions. 

"Yes;  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  this  morning  as 
she  was  going  down  the  street,"  was  Camille's  reply. 

"  She  is  a  most  beautiful  creature,"  said  Louis  Bas- 
tine. "  She  has  the  proud  poise  of  Leroy,  the  most 
splendid  eyes  I  ever  saw  in  a  woman's  head,  lovely 
complexion,  and  a  glorious  wealth  of  hair.  She  would 
bring  $2000  any  day  in  a  New  Orleans  market." 

"  I  always  feel  sorry,"  said  Camille,  "  when  I  see  one 
of  those  Creole  girls  brought  to  the  auction  block.  I 
have  known  fathers  who  were  deeply  devoted  to  their 
daughters,  but  who  through  some  reverse  of  fortune 
were  forced  to  part  with  them,  and  I  always  think  the 


IOO  If) LA    LEROY, 

blow  has  been  equally  terrible  on  both  sides.  I  had  a 
friend  who  had  two  beautiful  daughters  whom  he  had 
educated  in  the  North.  They  were  cultured,  and  really 
belles  in  society.  They  were  entirely  ignorant  of  their 
lineage,  but  when  their  father  died  it  was  discovered 
that  their  mother  had  been  a  slave.  It  was  a  fearful 
blow.  They  would  have  faced  poverty,  but  the  knowl- 
edge of  their  tainted  blood  was  more  than  they  could 
bear." 

"What  became  of  them  ?  " 

"  They  both  died,  poor  girls.  I  believe  they  were  as 
much  killed  by  the  blow  as  if  they  had  been  shot.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  Bastine,  I  feel  sorry  for  this  girl.  I 
don't  believe  she  has  the  least  idea  of  her  negro  blood." 

"  No,  Leroy  has  been  careful  to  conceal  it  from  her," 
replied  Bastine. 

"  Is  that  so?"  queried  Camille.  "Then  he  has  made 
a  great  mistake." 

"I  can't  help  that,"  said  Bastine;  "business  is  busi- 
ness." 

"  How  can  you  get  her  away?"  asked  Camille.  "You 
will  have  to  be  very  cautious,  because  if  these  pesky 
Abolitionists  get  an  inkling  of  what  you're  doing  they 
will  balk  your  game  double  quick.  And  when  you 
come  to  look  at  it,  isn't  it  a  shame  to  attempt  to  re- 
duce that  girl  to  slavery  ?  She  is  just  as  white  as  we 
are,  as  good  as  any  girl  in  the  land,  and  better  educated 
than  thousands  of  white  girls.  A  girl  with  her  appar- 
ent refinement  and  magnificent  beauty,  were  it  not  for 
the  cross  in  her  blood,  I  would  be  proud  to  introduce  to 
our  set.  She  would  be  the  sensation  of  the  season.  I 
believe  to-day  it  would  be  easier  for  me  to  go  to  the 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  IOt 

slums  and  take  a  young  girl  from  there,  and  have  her  in- 
troduced as  my  wife,  than  to  have  society  condone  the 
offense  if  I  married  that  lovely  girl.  There  is  not  a 
social  circle  in  the  South  that  would  not  take  it  as  a 
gross  insult  to  have  her  introduced  into  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Bastine,  "  my  plan  is  settled.  Leroy  has 
never  allowed  her  to  spend  her  vacations  at  home.  I 
understand  she  is  now  very  anxious  to  get  home,  and, 
as  Lorraine's  attorney,  I  have  come  on  his  account  to 
take  her  home." 

"  How  will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  shall  tell  her  her  father  is  dangerously  ill,  and  de- 
sires her  to  come  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"  And  what  then  ?  " 

"  Have  her  inventoried  with  the  rest  of  the  property." 

"  Don't  she  know  that  her  father  is  dead  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Bastine."  "  She  is  not  in  mourn- 
ing, but  appeared  very  light-hearted  this  morning,  laugh- 
ing and  talking  with  two  other  girls.  I  was  struck  with 
her  great  beauty,  and  asked  a  gentleman  who  she  was. 
He  said,  '  Miss  Leroy,  of  Mississippi.'  I  think  Lorraine 
has  managed  the  affair  so  as  to  keep  her  in  perfect 
ignorance  of  her  father's  death.  I  don't  like  the  job, 
but  I  never  let  sentiment  interfere  with  my  work." 

Poor  Iola!  When  she  said  slavery  was  not  a  bad 
thing,  little  did  she  think  that  she  was  destined  to  drink 
to  its  bitter  dregs  the  cup  she  was  so  ready  to  press  to 
the  lips  of  others. 

"  How  do  you  think  she  will  take  to  her  situation  ?  " 
asked  Camille. 

"  O,  I  guess,"  said  Bastine,  "  she  will  sulk  and  take 
it  pretty  hard  at  first ;  but  if  she  is  managed   right  she 


102  IOLA   LEROY, 

will  soon  get  over  it.  Give  her  plenty  of  jewelry,  fine 
clothes,  and  an  easy  time." 

"  All  this  business  must  be  conducted  with  the  utmost 
secrecy  and  speed.  Her  mother  could  not  have  written 
to  her,  for  she  has  been  suffering  with  brain  fever 
and  nervous  prostration  since  Leroy's  death.  Lorraine 
knows  her  market  value  too  well,  and  is  too  shrewd  to 
let  so  much  property  pass  out  of  his  hands  without 
making  an  effort  to  retain  it." 

"  Has  she  any  brothers  or  sisters  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  brother,"  replied  Bastine  ;  "  but  he  is  at  an- 
other school,  and  I  have  no  orders  from  Lorraine  in  ref- 
erence to  him.  If  I  can  get  the  girl  I  am  willing  to  let 
well  enough  alone.  I  dread  the  interview  with  the  prin- 
cipal more  than  anything  else.  I  am  afraid  he  will  hem 
and  haw,  and  have  his  doubts.  Perhaps,  when  he  sees 
my  letters  and  hears  my  story,  I  can  pull  the  wool  over 
his  eyes." 

"  But,  Louis,  this  is  a  pitiful  piece  of  business.  I 
should  hate  to  be  engaged  in  it." 

A  deep  flush  of  shame  overspread  for  a  moment  the 
face  of  Lorraine's  attorney,  as  he  replied  :  "  I  don't  like 
the  job,  but  I  have  undertaken  it,  and  must  go  through 
with  it." 

"  I  see  no  '  must '  about  it.  Were  I  in  your  place  I 
would  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  business." 

"  I  can't  afford  it,"  was  Bastine's  hard,  business-like 
reply.  On  the  next  morning  after  this  conversation 
between  these  two  young  men,  Louis  Bastine  presented 
himself  to  the  principal  of  the  academy,  with  the  request 
that  Iola  be  permitted  to  leave  immediately  to  attend 
the  sick-bed  of  her  father,  who  was  dangerously  ill.    The 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  103 

principal  hesitated,  but  while  he  was  deliberating,  a  tel- 
egram, purporting  to  come  from  Iola's  mother,  sum- 
moned Iola  to  her  father's  bedside  without  delay.  The 
principal,  set  at  rest  in  regard  to  the  truthfulness  of  the 
dispatch,  not  only  permitted  but  expedited  her  departure. 

Ioia  and  Bastine  took  the  earliest  train,  and  traveled 
without  pausing  until  they  reached  a  large  hotel  in 
a  Southern  city.  There  they  were  obliged  to  wait  a 
few  hours  until  they  could  resume  their  journey,  the 
train  having  failed  to  make  connection.  Iola  sat  in  a 
large,  lonely  parlor,  waiting  for  the  servant  to  show  her 
to  a  private  room.  She  had  never  known  a  great  sorrow. 
Never  before  had  the  shadows  of  death  mingled  with 
the  sunshine  of  her  life. 

Anxious,  travel-worn,  and  heavy-hearted,  she  sat  in 
an  easy  chair,  with  nothing  to  divert  her  from  the  grief 
and  anxiety  which  rendered  every  delay  a  source  of 
painful  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  that  he  will  be  alive  and  growing  bet- 
ter ! "  was  the  thought  which  kept  constantly  revolving 
in  her  mind,  until  she  fell  asleep.  In  her  dreams  she 
was  at  home,  encircled  in  the  warm  clasp  of  her  father's 
arms,  feeling  her  mother's  kisses  lingering  on  her  lips, 
and  hearing  the  joyous  greetings  of  the  servants  and 
Mammy  Liza's  glad  welcome  as  she  folded  her  to  her 
heart.  From  this  dream  of  bliss  she  was  awakened  by 
a  burning  kiss  pressed  on  her  lips,  and  a  strong  arm  en- 
circling her.  Gazing  around  and  taking  in  the  whole  sit- 
uation, she  sprang  from  her  seat,  her  eyes  flashing  with 
rage  and  scorn,  her  face  flushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair, 
her  voice  shaken  with  excitement,  and  every  nerve 
trembling  with  angry  emotion. 


104  IOLA    LEROV, 

"  How  dare  you  do  such  a  thing !  Don't  you  know  if 
my  father  were  here  he  would  crush  you  to  the  earth  ?" 

'■'Not  so  fast,  my  lovely  tigress,"  said  Bastine,  "your 
father  knew  what  he  was  doing  when  he  placed  you  in 
my  charge." 

"  My  father  made  a  great  mistake,  if  he  thought  he 
had  put  me  in  charge  of  a  gentleman." 

"  I  am  your  guardian  for  the  present,"  replied  Bastine. 
"  I  am  to  see  you  safe  home,  and  then  my  commission 
ends." 

"  I  wish  it  were  ended  now,"  she  exclaimed,  trembling 
with  anger  and  mortification.  Her  voice  was  choked  by 
emotion,  and  broken  by  smothered  sobs.  Louis  Bastine 
thought  to  himself,  "she  is  a  real  spitfire,  but  beautiful 
even  in  her  wrath." 

During  the  rest  of  her  journey  Iola  preserved  a  most 
freezing  reserve  towards  Bastine.  At  length  the  journey 
was  ended.  Pale  and  anxious  she  rode  up  the  avenue 
which  led  to  her  home. 

A  strange  silence  pervaded  the  place.  The  servants 
moved  sadly  from  place  to  place,  and  spoke  in  subdued 
tones.  The  windows  were  heavily  draped  with  crape, 
and  a  funeral  air  pervaded  the  house. 

Mammy  Liza  met  her  at  the  door,  and,  with  stream- 
ing eyes  and  convulsive  sobs,  folded  her  to  her  heart,  as 
Iola  exclaimed,  in  tones  of  hopeless  anguish  : — 

"  Oh,  papa's  dead  !  " 

"Oh,  my  pore  baby!"  said  mammy,  "ain't  you  hearn 
tell  'bout  it  ?  Yore  par's  dead,  an'  your  mar's  bin  dref- 
ful  sick.     She's  better  now." 

Mam  Liza  stepped  lightly  into  Mrs.  Leroy's  room, 
and  gently  apprised  her  of  Iola's  arrival.     In  a  darkened 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  IO5 

room  lay  the  stricken  mother,  almost  distracted  by  her 
late  bereavement. 

"  Oh,  Iola,"  she  exclaimed,  as  her  daughter  entered, 
"is  this  you  ?     I  am  so  sorry  you  came." 

Then,  burying  her  head  in  Iola's  bosom,  she  wept  con- 
vulsively. "  Much  as  I  love  you,"  she  continued,  be- 
tween her  sobs,  "  and  much  as  I  longed  to  see  you,  I  am 
sorry  you  came." 

"Why,  mother,"  replied  Iola,  astonished,  "  I  received 
your  telegram  last  Wednesday,  and  I  took  the  earliest 
train  I  could  get." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  never  sent  you  a  telegram.  It  was 
a  trick  to  bring  you  down  South  and  reduce  you  to 
slavery." 

Iola  eyed  her  mother  curiously.  What  did  she  mean  ? 
Had  grief  dethroned  her  reason  ?  Yet  her  eye  was  clear, 
her  manner  perfectly  rational. 

Marie  saw  the  astounded  look  on  Iola's  face,  and  nerv- 
ing herself  to  the  task,  said  :  "  Iola,  I  must  tell  you  what 
your  father  always  enjoined  me  to  be  silent  about.  I 
did  not  think  it  was  the  wisest  thing,  but  I  yielded  to 
his  desires.  I  have  negro  blood  in  my  veins.  I  was 
your  father's  slave  before  I  married  him.  His  relatives 
have  set  aside  his  will.  The  courts  have  declared  our 
marriage  null  and  void  and  my  manumission  illegal, 
and  we  are  all  to  be  remanded  to  slavery." 

An  expression  of  horror  and  anguish  swept  over  Iola's 
face,  and,  turning  deathly  pale,  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh, 
mother,  it  can't  be  so !  you  must  be  dreaming !  " 

"  No,  my  child  ;  it  is  a  terrible  reality." 

Almost  wild  with  agony,  Iola  paced  the  floor,  as  the 
fearful  truth  broke  in  crushing  anguish  upon  her  mind. 


106  IOLA   LEROY, 

Then  bursting  into  a  paroxysm  of  tears  succeeded  by 
peals  of  hysterical  laughter,  said  : — ■ 

"  I  used  to  say  that  slavery  is  right.  I  didn't  know 
what  I  was  talking  about."  Then  growing  calmer,  she 
said,  "  Mother,  who  is  at  the  bottom  of  this  downright 
robbery  ?  " 

"Alfred  Lorraine;  I  have  always  dreaded  that  man, 
and  what  I  feared  has  come  to  pass.  Your  father  had 
faith  in  him  ;  I  never  had." 

"  But,  mother,  could  we  not  contest  his  claim.  You 
have  your  marriage  certificate  and  papa's  will." 

"  Yes,  my  dear  child,  but  Judge  Starkins  has  decided 
that  we  have  no  standing  in  the  court,  and  no  testimony 
according  to  law." 

"  Oh,  mother,  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  my  child,  unless  you  can  escape  to  the 
North." 

"And  leave  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Mother,  I  will  never  desert  you  in  your  hour  of  trial. 
But  can  nothing  be  done?  Had  father  no  friends  who 
would  assist  us  ?  " 

"  None  that  I  know  of.  I  do  not  think  he  had  an 
acquaintance  who  approved  of  our  marriage.  The 
neighboring  planters  have  stood  so  aloof  from  me  that 
I  do  not  know  where  to  turn  for  either  help  or  sympathy. 
I  believe  it  was  Lorraine  who  sent  the  telegram.  I  wrote 
to  you  as  soon  as  I  could  after  your  father's  death,  but 
fainted  just  as  I  finished  directing  the  letter.  I  do  not 
think  he  knows  where  your  brother  is,  and,  if  possible, 
he  must  not  know.  If  you  can  by  any  means,  do  send 
a  letter  to  Harry  and  warn  him  not  to  attempt  to  come 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  IO/ 

home.  I  don't  know  how  you  will  succeed,  for  Lorraine 
has  us  all  under  surveillance.  But  it  is  according  to 
law." 

"What  law,  mother?" 

"  The  law  of  the  strong  against  the  weak." 

"  Oh,  mother,  it  seems  like  a  dreadful  dream,  a  fearful 
nightmare !  But  I  cannot  shake  it  off.  Where  is 
Gracie  ?  " 

"  The  dear  child  has  been  running  down  ever  since 
her  papa's  death.  She  clung  to  me  night  and  day  while 
I  had  the  brain  fever,  and  could  not  be  persuaded  to 
leave  me.  She  hardly  ate  anything  for  more  than  a 
week.  She  has  been  dangerously  ill  for  several  days, 
and  the  doctor  says  she  cannot  live.  The  fever  has  ex- 
hausted all  her  rallying  power,  and  yet,  dear  as  she  is  to 
me,  I  would  rather  consign  her  to  the  deepest  grave  than 
see  her  forced  to  be  a  slave." 

"  So  would  I.     I  wish  I  could  die  myself." 

"  Oh,  Iola,  do  not  talk  so.  Strive  to  be  a  Christian, 
to  have  faith  in  the  darkest  hour.  Were  it  not  for  my 
hope  of  heaven  I  couldn't  stand  all  this  trouble." 

"  Mother,  are  these  people  Christians  who  made  these 
laws  which  are  robbing  us  of  our  inheritance  and  re- 
ducing us  to  slavery  ?  If  this  is  Christianity  I  hate 
and  despise  it.  Would  the  most  cruel  heathen  do 
worse  ?  " 

"  My  dear  child,  I  have  not  learned  my  Christianity 
from  them.  I  have  learned  it  at  the  foot  of  the  cross, 
and  from  this  book,"  she  said,  placing  a  New  Testament 
in  Iola's  hands.  "  Some  of  the  most  beautiful  lessons 
of  faith  and  trust  I  have  ever  learned  were  from  among 
our  lowly  people  in  their  humble  cabins." 


108  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  Mamma ! "  called  a  faint  voice  from  the  adjoining 
room.  Marie  immediately  arose  and  went  to  the  bed- 
side of  her  sick  child,  where  Mammy  Liza  was  holding 
her  faithful  vigils.  The  child  had  just  awakened  from 
a  fitful  sleep. 

"I  thought,"  she  said,  "that  I  heard  Iola's  voice. 
Has  she  come  ?" 

"  Yes,  darling  ;  do  you  want  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  as  a  bright  smile  broke  over  her 
dying  features. 

Iola  passed  quickly  into  the  room.  Gracie  reached 
out  her  thin,  bloodless  hand,  clasped  Iola's  palm  in  hers, 
and  said  :  "  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come.  Dear  Iola, 
stand  by  mother.  You  and  Harry  are  all  she  has.  It 
is  not  hard  to  die.  You  and  mother  and  Harry  must 
meet  me  in  heaven." 

Swiftly  the  tidings  went  through  the  house  that 
Gracie  was  dying.  The  servants  gathered  around  her 
with  tearful  eyes,  as  she  bade  them  all  good-bye.  When 
she  had  finished,  and  Mammy  had  lowered  the  pillow, 
an  unwonted  radiance  lit  up  her  eye,  and  an  expression 
of  ineffable  gladness  overspread  her  face,  as  she  mur- 
mured :  "  It  is  beautiful,  so  beautiful !  "  Fainter  and 
fainter  grew  her  voice,  until,  without  a  struggle  or  sigh, 
she  passed  away  beyond  the  cower  of  oppression  and 
prejudice. 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  IO9 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

A    REJECTED    SUITOR. 

VERY  unexpected  was  Dr.  Gresham's  proposal  to  Iola. 
She  had  heartily  enjoyed  his  society  and  highly  valued 
his  friendship,  but  he  had  never  been  associated  in  her 
mind  with  either  love  or  marriage.  As  he  held  her 
hand  in  his  a  tell-tale  flush  rose  to  her  cheek,  a  look 
of  grateful  surprise  beamed  from  her  eye,  but  it  was 
almost  immediately  succeeded  by  an  air  of  inexpressi- 
ble sadness,  a  drooping  of  her  eyelids,  and  an  increasing 
pallor  of  her  cheek.  She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his, 
shook  her  head  sadly,  and  said : — 

"No,  Doctor;  that  can  never  be.  I  am  very  grateful 
to  you  for  your  kindness.  I  value  your  friendship,  but 
neither  gratitude  nor  friendship  is  love,  and  I  have  noth- 
ing more  than  those  to  give." 

"Not  at  present,"  said  Dr.  Gresham  ;  "but  may  I  not 
hope  your  friendship  will  ripen  into  love  ?  " 

"  Doctor,  I  could  not  promise.  I  do  not  think  that  I 
should.  There  are  barriers  between  us  that  I  cannot  pass. 
Were  you  to  know  them  I  think  you  would  say  the  same." 

Just  then  the  ambulance  brought  in  a  wounded  scout, 
and  Iola  found  relief  from  the  wounds  of  her  own  heart 
in  attending  to  his. 

Dr.  Gresham  knew  the  barrier  that  lay  between 
them.  It  was  one  which  his  love  had  surmounted. 
But  he  was  too  noble  and  generous  to  take  advantage 
of  her  loneliness  to  press  his  suit.     He  had  lived  in  a 


IIO  IOLA   LEROY, 

part  of  the  country  where  he  had  scarcely  ever  seen  a 
colored  person,  and  around  the  race  their  misfortunes 
had  thrown  a  halo  of  romance.  To  him  the  negro  was 
a  picturesque  being,  over  whose  woes  he  had  wept  when 
a  child,  and  whose  wrongs  he  was  ready  to  redress  when 
a  man.  But  when  he  saw  the  lovely  girl  who  had 
been  rescued  by  the  commander  of  the  post  from  the 
clutches  of  slavery,  all  the  manhood  and  chivalry  in  his 
nature  arose  in  her  behalf,  and  he  was  ready  to  lay  on 
the  altar  of  her  heart  his  first  grand  and  overmaster- 
ing love.  Not  discouraged  by  her  refusal,  but  deter- 
mined to  overcome  her  objections,  Dr.  Gresham  re- 
solved that  he  would  abide  his  time. 

Iola  was  not  indifferent  to  Dr.  Gresham.  She  ad- 
mired his  manliness  and  respected  his  character.  He 
was  tall  and  handsome,  a  fine  specimen  of  the  best 
brain  and  heart  of  New  England.  He  had  been  nur- 
tured under  grand  and  ennobling  influences.  His  father 
was  a  devoted  Abolitionist.  His  mother  was  kind- 
hearted,  but  somewhat  exclusive  and  aristocratic. 
She  would  have  looked  upon  his  marriage  with  Iola 
as  a  mistake  and  feared  that  such  an  alliance  would 
hurt  the  prospects  of  her  daughters. 

During  Iola's  stay  in  the  North,  she  had  learned 
enough  of  the  racial  feeling  to  influence  her  decision 
in  reference  to  Dr.  Gresham's  offer.  Iola,  like  other 
girls,  had  had  her  beautiful  day-dreams  before  she  was 
rudely  awakened  by  the  fate  which  had  dragged  her 
into  the  depths  of  slavery.  In  the  chambers  of  her 
imagery  were  pictures  of  noble  deeds;  of  high,  heroic 
men,  knightly,  tender,  true,  and  brave.  In  Dr.  Gresham 
she  saw  the  ideal  of  her  soul  exemplified.     But  in  her 


OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  Ill 

lonely  condition,  with  all  its  background  of  terrible 
sorrow  and  deep  abasement,  she  had  never  for  a  mo- 
ment thought  of  giving  or  receiving  love  from  one  of 
that  race  who  had  been  so  lately  associated  in  her 
mind  with  horror,  aversion,  and  disgust.  His  kindness 
to  her  had  been  a  new  experience.  His  companion- 
ship was  an  unexpected  pleasure.  She  had  learned  to 
enjoy  his  presence  and  to  miss  him  when  absent,  and 
when  she  began  to  question  her  heart  she  found  that 
unconsciously  it  was  entwining  around  him. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  do  like  him;  but  I  can 
never  marry  him.  To  the  man  I  marry  my  heart  must 
be  as  open  as  the  flowers  to  the  sun.  I  could  not  accept 
his  hand  and  hide  from  him  the  secret  of  my  birth ;  and 
I  could  not  consent  to  choose  the  happiest  lot  on  earth 
without  first  finding  my  poor  heart-stricken  and  desolate 
mother.  Perhaps  some  day  I  may  have  the  courage  to 
tell  him  my  sad  story,  and  then  make  my  heart  the 
sepulchre  in  which  to  bury  all  the  love  which  might 
have  gladdened  and  brightened  my  whole  life." 

During  the  sad  and  weary  months  which  ensued  while 
the  war  dragged  its  slow  length  along,  Dr.  Gresham  and 
Iola  often  met  by  the  bedsides  of  the  wounded  and 
dying,  and  sometimes  he  would  drop  a  few  words  at 
which  her  heart  would  beat  quicker  and  her  cheek  flush 
more  vividly.  But  he  was  so  kind,  tender,  and  respect- 
ful, that  Iola  had  no  idea  he  knew  her  race  affiliations. 
She  knew  from  unmistakable  signs  that  Dr.  Gresham 
had  learned  to  love  her,  and  that  he  had  power  to  call 
forth  the  warmest  affection  of  her  soul ;  but  she  fought 
with  her  own  heart  and  repressed  its  rising  love.  She 
felt  that  it  was  best  for  his  sake  that  they  should  not 


112  IOLA    LEROY, 

marry.  When  she  saw  the  evidences  cf  his  increasing 
love  she  regretted  that  she  had  not  informed  him  at  the 
first  of  the  barrier  that  lay  between  them  ;  it  might  have 
saved  him  unnecessary  suffering.  Thinking  thus,  Iola 
resolved,  at  whatever  cost  of  pain  it  might  be  to  herself, 
to  explain  to  Dr.  Gresham  what  she  meant  by  the 
insurmountable  barrier.  Iola,  after  a  continuous  strain 
upon  her  nervous  system  for  months,  began  to  suffer 
from  general  debility  and  nervous  depression.  Dr. 
Gresham  saw  the  increasing  pallor  on  Iola's  cheek  and 
the  loss  of  buoyancy  in  her  step.  One  morning,  as  she 
turned  from  the  bed  of  a  young  soldier  for  whom  she 
had  just  written  a  letter  to  his  mother,  there  was  such 
a  look  of  pity  and  sorrow  on  her  face  that  Dr.  Gresham's 
whole  heart  went  out  in  sympathy  for  her,  and  he  re- 
solved to  break  the  silence  he  had  imposed  upon  himself. 

"  Iola,''  he  said,  and  there  was  a  depth  of  passionate 
tenderness  in  his  voice,  a  volume  of  unexpressed  affection 
in  his  face,  "you  are  wronging  yourself.  You  are 
sinking  beneath  burdens  too  heavy  for  you  to  bear.  It 
seems  to  me  that  besides  the  constant  drain  upon  your 
sympathies  there  is  some  great  sorrow  preying  upon 
your  life ;  some  burden  that  ought  to  be  shared."  He 
gazed  upon  her  so  ardently  that  each  cord  of  her  heart 
seemed  to  vibrate,  and  unbidden  tears  sprang  to  her 
lustrous  eyes,  as  she  said,  sadly: — 

"Doctor,  you  are  right." 

"Iola,  my  heart  is  longing  to  lift  those  burdens  from 
your  life.  Love,  like  faith,  laughs  at  impossibilities.  I 
can  conceive  of  no  barrier  too  high  for  my  love  to 
surmount.  Consent  to  be  mine,  as  nothing  else  on 
earth  is  mine." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  113 

"  Doctor,  you  know  not  what  you  ask,"  replied  Iola. 
"  Instead  of  coming  into  this  hospital  a  self-sacrificing 
woman,  laying  her  every  gift  and  advantage  upon  the 
altar  of  her  country,  I  came  as  a  rescued  slave,  glad  to 
find  a  refuge  from  a  fate  more  cruel  than  death ;  a  fate 
from  which  I  was  rescued  by  the  intervention  of  my  dear 
dead  friend,  Thomas  Anderson.  I  was  born  on  a  lonely 
plantation  on  the  Mississippi  River,  where  the  white 
population  was  very  sparse.  We  had  no  neighbors 
who  ever  visited  us ;  no  young  white  girls  with  whom 
I  ever  played  in  my  childhood;  but,  never  having 
enjoyed  such  companionship,  I  was  unconscious  of  any 
sense  of  privation.  Our  parents  spared  no  pains  to 
make  the  lives  of  their  children  (we  were  three)  as 
bright  and  pleasant  as  they  could.  Our  home  was  so 
happy.  We  had  a  large  number  of  servants,  who  were 
devoted  to  us.  I  never  had  the  faintest  suspicion  that 
there  was  any  wrongfulness  in  slavery,  and  I  never  dream- 
ed of  the  dreadful  fate  which  broke  in  a  storm  of  fearful 
anguish  over  our  devoted  heads.  Papa  used  to  take  us 
to  New  Orleans  to  see  the  Mardi  Gras,  and  while  there 
we  visited  the  theatres  and  other  places  of  amusement 
and  interest.  At  home  we  had  books,  papers,  and  mag- 
azines to  beguile  our  time.  Perfectly  ignorant  of  my 
racial  connection,  I  was  sent  to  a  Northern  academy, 
and  soon  made  many  friends  among  my  fellow-students. 
Companionship  with  girls  of  my  own  age  was  a  new  ex- 
perience, which  I  thoroughly  enjoyed.  I  spent  several 
years  in  New  England,  and  was  busily  preparing  for  my 
commencement  exercises  when  my  father  was  snatched 
away — died  of  yellow  fever  on  his  way  North  to  witness 
my  graduation.     Through  a  stratagem,  I  was  brought 


114  IOLA   LEROY, 

hurriedly  from  the  North,  and  found  that  my  father  was 
dead  ;  that  his  nearest  kinsman  had  taken  possession  of 
our  property ;  that  my  mother's  marriage  had  been  de- 
clared illegal,  because  of  an  imperceptible  infusion  of 
negro  blood  in  her  veins ;  and  that  she  and  her  children 
had  been  remanded  to  slavery.  I  was  torn  from  my 
mother,  sold  as  a  slave,  and  subjected  to  cruel  indig- 
nities, from  which  I  was  rescued  and  a  place  given  to 
me  in  this  hospital.  Doctor,  I  did  not  choose  my  lot  in 
life,  but  I  have  no  other  alternative  than  to  accept  it. 
The  intense  horror  and  agony  I  felt  when  I  was  first  told 
the  story  are  over.  Thoughts  and  purposes  have  come 
to  me  in  the  shadow  I  should  never  have  learned  in  the 
sunshine.  I  am  constantly  rousing  myself  up  to  suffer 
and  be  strong.  I  intend,  when  this  conflict  is  over,  to 
cast  my  lot  with  the  freed  people  as  a  helper,  teacher, 
and  friend.  I  have  passed  through  a  fiery  ordeal,  but 
this  ministry  of  suffering  will  not  be  in  vain.  I  feel  that 
my  mind  has  matured  beyond  my  years.  I  am  a  won- 
der to  myself.  It  seems  as  if  years  had  been  compressed 
into  a  few  short  months.  In  telling  you  this,  do  you 
not,  can  you  not,  see  that  there  is  an  insurmountable 
barrier  between  us  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  replied  Dr.  Gresham.  "  I  love  you 
for  your  own  sake.  And  with  this  the  disadvantages  of 
birth  have  nothing  to  do." 

"  You  say  so  now,  and  I  believe  that  you  are  perfect- 
ly sincere.  To-day  your  friendship  springs  from  com- 
passion, but,  when  that  subsides,  might  you  not  look  on 
me  as  an  inferior  ?  " 

"  Iola,  you  do  not  understand  me.  You  think  too 
meanly  of  me.     You  must  not  judge  me  by  the  worst  of 


'  OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  1 1 5 

my  race.  Surely  our  country  has  produced  a  higher  type 
of  manhood  than  the  men  by  whom  you  were  tried  and 
tempted." 

"Tried,  but  not  tempted,"  said  Iola,  as  a  deep  flush 
overspread  her  face  ;  "  I  was  never  tempted.  I  was  sold 
from  State  to  State  as  an  article  of  merchandise.  I  had 
outrages  heaped  on  me  which  might  well  crimson  the 
cheek  of  honest  womanhood  with  shame,  but  I  never 
fell  into  the  clutches  of  an  owner  for  whom  I  did  not 
feel  the  utmost  loathing  and  intensest  horror.  I  have 
heard  men  talk  glibly  of  the  degradation  of  the  negro, 
but  there  is  a  vast  difference  between  abasement  of  con- 
dition and  degradation  of  character.  I  was  abased, 
but  the  men  who  trampled  on  me  were  the  degraded 
ones." 

"  But,  Iola,  you  must  not  blame  all  for  what  a  few 
have  done." 

"A  few  have  done  ?  Did  not  the  whole  nation  con- 
sent to  our  abasement  ?  "  asked  Iola,  bitterly. 

"  No,  Miss  Iola,  we  did  not  all  consent  to  it.  Slavery 
drew  a  line  of  cleavage  in  this  country.  Although  we 
were  under  one  government  we  were  farther  apart  in  our 
sentiments  than  if  we  had  been  divided  by  lofty  mount- 
ains and  separated  by  wide  seas.  And  had  not  North- 
ern sentiment  been  brought  to  bear  against  the  institu- 
tion, slavery  would  have  been  intact  until  to-day." 

"But,  Doctor,  the  negro  is  under  a  social  ban  both 
North  and  South.  Our  enemies  have  the  ear  of  the 
world,  and  they  can  depict  us  just  as  they  please." 

"That  is  true  ;  but  the  negro  has  no  other  alternative 
than  to  make  friends  of  his  calamities.  Other  men  have 
plead  his  cause,  but  out  of  the  race  must  come  its  own 


Il6  IOLA   LEROY, 

defenders.  With  them  the  pen  must  be  mightier  than 
the  sword.  It  is  the  weapon  of  civilization,  and  they 
must  use  it  in  their  own  defense.  We  cannot  tell  what 
is  in  them  until  they  express  themselves." 

"Yes,  and  I  think  there  is  a  large  amount  of  latent 
and  undeveloped  ability  in  the  race,  which  they  will 
learn  to  use  for  their  own  benefit.  This  my  hospital 
experience  has  taught  me." 

"But,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  "they  must  learn  to  strug- 
gle, labor,  and  achieve.  By  facts,  not  theories,  they  will 
be  judged  in  the  future.  The  Anglo-Saxon  race  is 
proud,  domineering,  aggressive,  and  impatient  of  a  rival, 
and,  as  I  think,  has  more  capacity  for  dragging  down  a 
weaker  race  than  uplifting  it.  They  have  been  a  con- 
quering and  achieving  people,  marvelous  in  their  tri- 
umphs of  mind  over  matter.  They  have  manifested  the 
traits  of  character  which  are  developed  by  success  and 
victory." 

"And  yet,"  said  Iola,  earnestly,  "I  believe  the  time 
will  come  when  the  civilization  of  the  negro  will  assume 
a  better  phase  than  you  Anglo-Saxons  possess.  You 
will  prove  unworthy  of  your  high  vantage  ground  if  you 
only  use  your  superior  ability  to  victimize  feebler  races 
and  minister  to  a  selfish  greed  of  gold  and  a  love  of 
domination." 

"But,  Iola,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  a  little  impatiently, 
"what  has  all  this  to  do  with  our  marriage  ?  Your  com- 
plexion is  as  fair  as  mine.  What  is  to  hinder  you  from 
sharing  my  Northern  home,  from  having  my  mother  to 
be  your  mother  ?  "  The  tones  of  his  voice  grew  tender, 
as  he  raised  his  eyes  to  Iola's  face  and  anxiously  awaited 
her  reply. 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  117 

"Dr.  Gresham,"  said  Iola,  sadly,  "should  the  story  of 
my  life  be  revealed  to  your  family,  would  they  be  willing 
to  ignore  all  the  traditions  of  my  blood,  forget  all  the 
terrible  humiliations  through  which  I  have  passed  ?  I 
have  too  much  self-respect  to  enter  your  home  under  a 
veil  of  concealment.  I  have  lived  in  New  England.  I 
love  the  sunshine  of  her  homes  and  the  freedom  of  her 
institutions.  But  New  England  is  not  free  from  racial 
prejudice,  and  I  would  never  enter  a  family  where  I 
would  be  an  unwelcome  member." 

"  Iola,  dear,  you  have  nothing  to  fear  in  that  direc- 
tion." 

"  Doctor,"  she  said,  and  a  faint  flush  rose  to  her 
cheek,  "suppose  we  should  marry,  and  little  children 
in  after  years  should  nestle  in  our  arms,  and  one  of 
them  show  unmistakable  signs  of  color,  would  you  be 
satisfied  ?  " 

She  looked  steadfastly  into  his  eyes,  which  fell  be- 
neath her  truth-seeking  gaze.  His  face  flushed  as  if 
the  question  had  suddenly  perplexed  him.  Iola  saw 
the  irresolution  on  his  face,  and  framed  her  answer  ac- 
cordingly. 

"  Ah,  I  see,"  she  said,  "  that  you  are  puzzled.  You 
had  not  taken  into  account  what  might  result  from  such 
a  marriage.  I  will  relieve  you  from  all  embarrassment 
by  simply  saying  I  cannot  be  your  wife.  When  the  war 
is  over  I  intend  to  search  the  country  for  my  mother. 
Doctor,  were  you  to  give  me  a  palace-like  home,  with 
velvet  carpets  to  hush  my  tread,  and  magnificence  to 
surround  my  way,  I  should  miss  her  voice  amid  all  other 
tones,  her  presence  amid  every  scene.  Oh,  you  do  not 
know  how  hungry  my  heart  is  for  my  mother !     Were  I 


Il8  IOLA   LEROY, 

to  marry  you  I  would  carry  an  aching  heart  into  your 
home  and  dim  its  brightness.  I  have  resolved  never  to 
marry  until  I  have  found  my  mother.  The  hope  of  find- 
ing her  has  colored  all  my  life  since  I  regained  my  free- 
dom. It  has  helped  sustain  me  in  the  hour  of  fearful 
trial.  When  I  see  her  I  want  to  have  the  proud  con- 
sciousness that  I  bring  her  back  a  heart  just  as  lov- 
ing, faithful,  and  devoted  as  the  last  hour  we  parted." 

"And  is  this  your  final  answer?" 

"  It  is.  I  have  pledged  my  life  to  that  resolve,  and  I 
believe  time  and  patience  will  reward  me." 

There  was  a  deep  shadow  of  sorrow  and  disappoint- 
ment on  the  face  of  Dr.  Gresham  as  he  rose  to  leave. 
For  a  moment  he  held  her  hand  as  it  lay  limp  in  his 
own.  If  she  wavered  in  her  determination  it  was  only 
for  a  moment.  No  quivering  of  her  lip  or  paling  of  her 
cheek  betrayed  any  struggle  of  her  heart.  Her  resolve 
was  made,  and  his  words  were  powerless  to  swerve  her 
from  the  purpose  of  her  soul. 

After  Dr.  Gresham  had  gone  Iola  went  to  her  room 
and  sat  buried  in  thought.  It  seemed  as  if  the  fate  of 
Tantalus  was  hers,  without  his  crimes.  Here  she  was 
lonely  and  heart -stricken,  and  unto  her  was  presented 
the  offer  of  love,  home,  happiness,  and  social  position; 
the  heart  and  hand  of  a  man  too  noble  and  gener- 
ous to  refuse  her  companionship  for  life  on  account 
of  the  blood  in  her  veins.  Why  should  she  refuse 
these  desirable  boons?  But,  mingling  with  these  beau- 
tiful visions  of  manly  love  and  protecting  care  she  saw 
the  anguish  of  her  heart-stricken  mother  and  the  pale, 
sweet  face  of  her  dying  sister,  as  with  her  latest  breath 
she  had  said,  "  Iola,  stand  by  mamma ! " 


OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  1 19 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  to  herself ;  "  I  was  right  to  refuse 
Dr.  Gresham.  How  dare  I  dream  of  happiness  when 
my  poor  mamma's  heart  may  be  slowly  breaking  ?  I 
should  be  ashamed  to  live  and  ashamed  to  die  were  I  to 
choose  a  happy  lot  for  myself  and  leave  poor  mamma  to 
struggle  alone.  I  will  never  be  satisfied  till  I  get  tid- 
ings of  her.  And  when  I  have  found  her  I  will  do  all 
I  can  to  cheer  and  brighten  the  remnant  of  her  life." 


120  IOLA  LEROY, 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

HARRY   LEROY. 

It  was  several  weeks  after  Iola  had  written  to  her 
brother  that  her  letter  reached  him.  The  trusty  ser- 
vant to  whom  she  delivered  it  watched  his  opportun- 
ity to  mail  it.  At  last  he  succeeded  in  slipping  it  into 
Lorraine's  mail  and  dropping  them  all  into  the  post- 
office  together.  Harry  was  studying  at  a  boys'  acad- 
emy in  Maine.  His  father  had  given  that  State  the 
preference  because,  while  on  a  visit  there,  he  had  been 
favorably  impressed  with  the  kindness  and  hospital- 
ity of  the  people.  He  had  sent  his  son  a  large  sum 
of  money,  and  given  him  permission  to  spend  awhile 
with  some  school-chums  till  he  was  ready  to  bring  the 
family  North,  where  they  could  all  spend  the  summer 
together.  Harry  had  returned  from  his  visit,  and  was 
looking  for  letters  and  remittances  from  home,  when  a 
letter,  all  crumpled,  was  handed  him  by  the  principal 
of  the  academy.  He  recognized  his  sister's  handwrit- 
ing and  eagerly  opened  the  letter.  As  he  read,  he 
turned  very  pale ;  then  a  deep  flush  overspread  his  face 
and  an  angry  light  flashed  from  his  eyes.  As  he  read 
on,  his  face  became  still  paler;  he  gasped  for  breath 
and  fell  into  a  swoon.  Appalled  at  the  sudden  change 
which  had  swept  over  him  like  a  deadly  sirocco,  the 
principal  rushed  to  the  fallen  boy,  picked  up  the  mis- 
sive that  lay  beside  him,  and  immediately  rang  for 
help  and  dispatched  for  the  doctor.    The  doctor  came 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  121 

at  once  and  was  greatly  puzzled.  Less  than  an  hour 
before,  he  had  seen  him  with  a  crowd  of  merry,  laugh- 
ter-loving boys,  apparently  as  light-hearted  and  joyous 
as  any  of  them  ;  now  he  lay  with  features  drawn  and 
pinched,  his  face  deadly  pale,  as  if  some  terrible  suf- 
fering had  sent  all  the  blood  in  his  veins  to  stagnate 
around  his  heart.  Harry  opened  his  eyes,  shuddered, 
and  relapsed  into  silence.  The  doctor,  all  at  sea  in 
regard  to  the  cause  of  the  sudden  attack,  did  all  that 
he  could  to  restore  him  to  consciousness  and  quiet  the 
perturbation  of  his  spirit.  He  succeeded,  but  found 
he  was  strangely  silent.  A  terrible  shock  had  sent  a 
tremor  through  every  nerve,  and  the  doctor  watched 
with  painful  apprehension  its  effect  upon  his  reason. 
Giving  him  an  opiate  and  enjoining  that  he  should  be 
kept  perfectly  quiet,  the  doctor  left  the  room,  sought 
the  principal,  and  said  : — 

"  Mr.  Bascom,  here  is  a  case  that  baffles  my  skill.  I 
saw  that  boy  pass  by  my  window  not  more  than  half  an 
hour  ago,  full  of  animation,  and  now  he  lies  hovering 
between  life  and  death.  I  have  great  apprehension  for 
his  reason.     Can  you  throw  any  light  on  the  subject  ?" 

Mr.  Bascom  hesitated. 

"  I  am  not  asking  you  as  a  matter  of  idle  curiosity,  but 
as  a  physician.  I  must  have  all  the  light  I  can  get  in 
making  my  diagnosis  of  the  case." 

The  principal  arose,  went  to  his  desk,  took  out  the 
letter  which  he  had  picked  up  from  the  floor,  and  laid 
it  in  the  physician's  hand.  As  the  doctor  read,  a  look  of 
indignant  horror  swept  over  his  face.  Then  he  said : 
"  Can  it  be  possible !  I  never  suspected  such  a  thing. 
It  must  be  a  cruel,  senseless  hoax." 


122  IOLA  LEROY, 

"  Doctor,"  said  Mr.  Bascom,  "  I  have  been  a  life-long 
Abolitionist  and  have  often  read  of  the  cruelties  and 
crimes  of  American  slavery,  but  never  before  did  I 
realize  the  low  moral  tone  of  the  social  life  under  which 
such  shameless  cruelties  could  be  practiced  on  a  defense- 
less widow  and  her  orphaned  children.  Let  me  read  the 
letter  again.  Just  look  at  it,  all  tear-blotted  and  written 
with  a  trembling  hand : — 

'Dear  Brother: — I  have  dreadful  news  for  you 
and  I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  it.  Papa  and  Gracie  are 
both  dead.  He  died  of  yellow  fever.  Mamma  is  almost 
distracted.  Papa's  cousin  has  taken  possession  of  our 
property,  and  instead  of  heirs  we  are  chattels.  Mamma 
has  explained  the  whole  situation  to  me.  She  was 
papa's  slave  before  she  married.  He  loved  her,  manu- 
mitted, educated,  and  married  her.  When  he  died  Mr. 
Lorraine  entered  suit  for  his  property  and  Judge  Starkins 
has  decided  in  his  favor.  The  decree  of  the  court  has 
made  their  marriage  invalid,  robbed  us  of  our  inheritance, 
and  remanded  us  all  to  slavery.  Mamma  is  too  wretched 
to  attempt  to  write  herself,  but  told  me  to  entreat  you 
not  to  attempt  to  come  home.  You  can  do  us  no  good, 
and  that  mean,  cruel  Lorraine  may  do  you  much  harm. 
Don't  attempt,  I  beseech  you,  to  come  home.  Show 
this  letter  to  Mr.  Bascom  and  let  him  advise  you  what 
to  do.  But  don't,  for  our  sake,  attempt  to  come  home. 
'  Your  heart-broken  sister, 

'  IOLA   LEROY.'" 

"  This,"  said  the  doctor,  "  is  a  very  awkward  affair. 
The  boy  is  too  ill  to  be  removed.  It  is  doubtful  if  the 
nerves  which  have  trembled  with  such  fearful  excite- 


OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 23 

ment  will  ever  recover  their  normal  condition.  It  is 
simply  a  work  of  mercy  to  watch  over  him  with  the 
tenderest  care." 

Fortunately  for  Harry  he  had  fallen  into  good  hands, 
and  the  most  tender  care  and  nursing  were  bestowed 
upon  him.  For  awhile  Harry  was  strangely  silent, 
never  referring  to  the  terrible  misfortune  which  had 
so  suddenly  overshadowed  his  life.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
past  were  suddenly  blotted  out  of  his  memory.  But 
he  was  young  and  of  an  excellent  constitution,  and  in 
a  few  months  he  was  slowly  recovering. 

"  Doctor,"  said  he  one  day,  as  the  physician  sat  at  his 
bedside,  "  I  seem  to  have  had  a  dreadful  dream,  and  to 
have  dreamt  that  my  father  was  dead,  and  my  mother 
and  sister  were  in  terrible  trouble,  but  I  could  not  help 
them.  Doctor,  was  it  a  dream,  or  was  it  a  reality  ?  It 
could  not  have  been  a  dream,  for  when  I  fell  asleep  the 
grass  was  green  and  the  birds  were  singing,  but  now  the 
winds  are  howling  and  the  frost  is  on  the  ground.  Doc- 
tor, tell  me  how  it  is  ?     How  long  have  I  been  here  ?  " 

Sitting  by  his  bedside,  and  taking  his  emaciated  hand 
in  his,  the  doctor  said,  in  a  kind,  fatherly  tone :  "  My 
dear  boy,  you  have  been  very  ill,  and  everything  de- 
pends on  your  keeping  quiet,  very  quiet." 

As  soon  as  he  Avas  strong  enough  the  principal  gave 
him  his  letter  to  read. 

"  But,  Mr.  Bascom,"  Harry  said,  "  I  do  not  under- 
stand this.  It  says  my  mother  and  father  were  legally 
married.  How  could  her  marriage  be  set  aside  and  her 
children  robbed  of  their  inheritance  ?  This  is  not  a 
heathen  country.  I  hardly  think  barbarians  would  have 
done  any  worse ;  yet  this  is  called  a  Christian  country." 


124  IOLA  LEROY, 

" Christian  in  name,"  answered  the  principal.  "When 
your  father  left  you  in  my  care,  knowing  that  I  was  an 
Abolitionist,  he  confided  his  secret  to  me.  He  said  that 
life  was  full  of  vicissitudes,  and  he  wished  you  to  have 
a  good  education.  He  wanted  you  and  your  sister  to 
be  prepared  for  any  emergency.  He  did  not  wish  you 
to  know  that  you  had  negro  blood  in  your  veins.  He 
knew  that  the  spirit  of  caste  pervaded  the  nation,  North 
and  South,  and  he  was  very  anxious  to  have  his  chil- 
dren freed  from  its  depressing  influences.  He  did  not 
intend  to  stay  South  after  you  had  finished  your  educa- 
tion." 

"  But,"  said  Harry,  "  I  cannot  understand.  If  my 
mother  was  lawfully  married,  how  could  they  deprive 
her  of  her  marital  rights  ?  " 

"When  Lorraine,"  continued  Mr.  Bascom,  "knew 
your  father  was  dead,  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  find  a 
flaw  in  her  manumission,  and,  of  course,  the  marriage 
became  illegal.  She  could  not  then  inherit  property 
nor  maintain  her  freedom  ;  and  her  children  followed 
her  condition." 

Harry  listened  attentively.  Things  which  had  puz- 
zled him  once  now  became  perfectly  clear.  He  sighed 
heavily,  and,  turning  to  the  principal,  said :  "  I  see 
things  in  a  new  light.  Now  I  remember  that  none  of 
the  planters'  wives  ever  visited  my  mother;  and  we 
never  went  to  church  except  when  my  father  took  us 
to  the  Cathedral  in  New  Orleans.  My  father  was  a 
Catholic,  but  I  don't  think  mamma  is." 

"  Now,  Harry,"  said  the  principal,  "  life  is  before  you. 
If  you  wish  to  stay  North,  I  will  interest  friends  in  your 
behalf,  and  try  to  get  you  a  situation.     Going  South  is 


,  OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  125 

out  of  the  question.  It  is  probable  that  by  this  time 
your  mother  and  sister  are  removed  from  their  home. 
You  are  powerless  to  fight  against  the  law  that  enslaved 
them.  Should  you  fall  into  the  clutches  of  Lorraine, 
he  might  give  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  You  would 
be  pressed  into  the  Confederate  service  to  help  them 
throw  up  barricades,  dig  trenches,  and  add  to  the 
strength  of  those  who  enslaved  your  mother  and  sis- 
ter." 

"  Never  !  never  !  "  cried  Harry.  "  I  would  rather  die 
than  do  it !     I  should  despise  myself  forever  if  I  did." 

"Numbers  of  our  young  men,"  said  Mr.  Bascom, 
"  have  gone  to  the  war  which  is  now  raging  between 
North  and  South.  You  have  been  sick  for  several 
months,  and  much  has  taken  place  of  which  you  are 
unaware.     Would  you  like  to  enlist  ? " 

"  I  certainly  would  ;  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  fight- 
ing for  the  Government,  as  with  the  hope  of  finding  my 
mother  and  sister,  and  avenging  their  wrongs.  I  should 
like  to  meet  Lorraine  on  the  battle-field." 

"What  kind  of  a  regiment  would  you  prefer,  white 
or  colored  ?  " 

Harry  winced  when  the  question  was  asked.  He  felt 
the  reality  of  his  situation  as  he  had  not  done  before. 
It  was  as  if  two  paths  had  suddenly  opened  before 
him,  and  he  was  forced  to  choose  between  them.  On 
one  side  were  strength,  courage,  enterprise,  power  of 
achievement,  and  memories  of  a  wonderful  past.  On 
the  other  side  were  weakness,  ignorance,  poverty,  and 
the  proud  world's  social  scorn.  He  knew  nothing  of 
colored  people  except  as  slaves,  and  his  whole  soul 
shrank  from  equalizing  himself  with  them.     He  was  fair 


126  IOLA  LEROY, 

enough  to  pass  unchallenged  among  the  fairest  in  the 
land,  and  yet  a  Christless  prejudice  had  decreed  that 
he  should  be  a  social  pariah.  He  sat,  thoughtful  and  un- 
decided, as  if  a  great  struggle  were  going  on  in  his  mind. 
Finally  the  principal  said,  "I  do  not  think  that  you 
should  be  assigned  to  a  colored  regiment  because  of  the 
blood  in  your  veins,  but  you  will  have,  in  such  a  regi- 
ment, better  facilities  for  finding  your  mother  and  sister." 

"  You  are  right,  Mr.  Bascom.  To  find  my  mother 
and  sister  I  call  no  task  too  heavy,  no  sacrifice  too 
great." 

Since  Harry  had  come  North  he  had  learned  to  feel 
profound  pity  for  the  slave.  But  there  is  a  difference 
between  looking  on  a  man  as  an  object  of  pity  and  pro- 
tecting him  as  such,  and  being  identified  with  him  and 
forced  to  share  his  lot.  To  take  his  place  with  them  on 
the  arena  of  life  was  the  test  of  his  life,  but  love  was 
stronger  than  pride. 

His  father  was  dead.  His  mother  and  sister  were  en- 
slaved by  a  mockery  of  justice.  It  was  more  than  a 
matter  of  choice  where  he  should  stand  on  the  racial 
question.  He  felt  that  he  must  stand  where  he  could 
strike  the  most  effective  blow  for  their  freedom.  With 
that  thought  strong  in  his  mind,  and  as  soon  as  he  re- 
covered, he  went  westward  to  find  a  colored  regiment. 
He  told  the  recruiting  officer  that  he  wished  to  be  as- 
signed to  a  colored  regiment. 

"Why  do  you  wish  that,"  said  the  officer,  looking  at 
Harry  with  an  air  of  astonishment. 

"  Because  I  am  a  colored  man." 

The  officer  look  puzzled.  It  was  a  new  experi- 
ence.    He  had  seen  colored  men  with  fair  complexions 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  \2"J 

anxious  to  lose  their  identity  with  the  colored  race 
and  pose  as  white  men,  but  here  was  a  man  in  the 
flush  of  his  early  manhood,  to  whom  could  come  dreams 
of  promotion  from  a  simple  private  to  a  successful  gen- 
eral, deliberately  turning  his  back  upon  every  gilded 
hope  and  dazzling  opportunity,  to  cast  his  lot  with  the 
despised  and  hated  negro. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  the  officer.  "  Surely 
you  are  a  white  man,  and,  as  such,  I  will  enlist  you  in  a 
white  regiment." 

"  No,"  said  Harry,  firmly,  "  I  am  a  colored  man,  and 
unless  I  can  be  assigned  to  a  colored  regiment  I  am  not 
willing  to  enter  the  army." 

"Well,"  said  the  officer,  "you  are  the  d — d'st  fool  I 
ever  saw — a  man  as  white  as  you  are  turning  his  back 
upon  his  chances  of  promotion  !  But  you  can  take  your 
choice." 

So  Harry  was  permitted  to  enter  the  army.  By  his 
promptness  and  valor  he  soon  won  the  hearts  of  his 
superior  officers,  and  was  made  drill  sergeant.  Having 
nearly  all  of  his  life  been  used  to  colored  people,  and 
being  taught  by  his  mother  to  be  kind  and  respectful  to 
them,  he  was  soon  able  to  gain  their  esteem.  He  con- 
tinued in  the  regiment  until  Grant  began  the  task  of 
opening  the  Mississippi.  After  weeks  of  fruitless  effort, 
Grant  marched  his  army  down  the  west  side  of  the  river, 
while  the  gunboats  undertook  the  perilous  task  of  run- 
ning the  batteries.  Men  were  found  for  the  hour.  The 
volunteers  offered  themselves  in  such  numbers  that  lots 
were  cast  to  determine  who  should  have  the  opportunity 
to  enlist  in  an  enterprise  so  fraught  with  danger.  Harry 
was  one  on  whom  the  lot  fell. 


128  IOLA   LEROY, 

Grant  crossed  the  river  below,  coiled  his  forces  around 
Vicksburg  like  a  boa-constrictor,  and  held  it  in  his  grasp. 
After  forty-seven  days  of  endurance  the  city  surrendered 
to  him.  Port  Hudson,  after  the  surrender  of  Vicksburg, 
gave  up  the  unequal  contest,  and  the  Mississippi  was 
open  to  the  Gulf. 


OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 29 

CHAPTER  XV. 

ROBERT   AND    HIS   COMPANY. 

"  GOOD  morning,  gentlemen,"  said  Robert  Johnson, 
as  he  approached  Colonel  Robinson,  the  commander  of 
the  post,  who  was  standing  at  the  door  of  his  tent,  talk- 
ing with  Captain  Sybil. 

"  Good  morning,"  responded  Colonel  Robinson,  "  I 
am  glad  you  have  come.  I  was  just  about  to  send  for 
you.     How  is  your  company  getting  on  ? " 

"  First  rate,  sir,"  replied  Robert. 

"  In  good  health  ?" 

"Excellent.  They  are  all  in  good  health  and  spir- 
its. Our  boys  are  used  to  hardship  and  exposure,  and 
the  hope  of  getting  their  freedom  puts  new  snap  into 
them." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Colonel  Robinson.  "  They 
make  good  fighters  and  very  useful  allies.  Last  night 
we  received  very  valuable  intelligence  from  some  fugi- 
tives who  had  escaped  through  the  Rebel  lines.  I  do 
not  think  many  of  the  Northern  people  realize  the  serv- 
ice they  have  been  to  us  in  bringing  information  and 
helping  our  boys  when  escaping  from  Rebel  prisons.  I 
never  knew  a  full-blooded  negro  to  betray  us.  A  month 
ago,  when  we  were  encamped  near  the  Rebel  lines,  a 
colored  woman  managed  admirably  to  keep  us  posted  as 
to  the  intended  movements  of  the  enemy.  She  was 
engaged  in  laundry  work,  and  by  means  of  hanging  her 
sheets  in  different  ways  gave  us  the  right  signals." 


130  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  I  hope,"  said  Captain  Sybil,  "  that  the  time  will 
come  when  some  faithful  historian  will  chronicle  all  the 
deeds  of  daring  and  service  these  people  have  per- 
formed during  this  struggle,  and  give  them  due  credit 
therefor." 

"Our  great  mistake,"  said  Colonel  Robinson,"  was 
our  long  delay  in  granting  them  their  freedom,  and  even 
what  we  have  done  is  only  partial.  The  border  States 
still  retain  their  slaves.  We  ought  to  have  made  a 
clean  sweep  of  the  whole  affair.  Slavery  is  a  serpent 
which  we  nourished  in  its  weakness,  and  now  it  is  sting- 
ing us  in  its  strength." 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  said  Captain  Sybil.  "  But  in  mak- 
ing his  proclamation  of  freedom,  perhaps  Mr.  Lincoln 
went  as  far  as  he  thought  public  opinion  would  let 
him." 

"  It  is  remarkable,"  said  Colonel  Robinson,  "  how 
these  Secesh  hold  out.  It  surprises  me  to  see  how  poor 
white  men,  who,  like  the  negroes,  are  victims  of  slavery, 
rally  around  the  Stripes  and  Bars.  These  men,  I  believe, 
have  been  looked  down  on  by  the  aristocratic  slave- 
holders, and  despised  by  the  well-fed  and  comfortable 
slaves,  yet  they  follow  their  leaders  into  the  very  jaws  of 
death ;  face  hunger,  cold,  disease,  and  danger ;  and  all 
for  what  ?  What,  under  heaven,  are  they  fighting  for  ? 
Now,  the  negro,  ignorant  as  he  is,  has  learned  to  re- 
gard our  flag  as  a  banner  of  freedom,  and  to  look 
forward  to  his  deliverance  as  a  consequence  of  the 
overthrow  of  the  Rebellion." 

"  I  think,"  said  Captain  Sybil  "  that  these  ignorant 
white  men  have  been  awfully  deceived.  They  have 
had  presented  to  their  imaginations  utterly  false  ideas 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  I  3 1 

» 

of  the  results  of  Secession,  and  have  been  taught  that 
its  success  would  bring  them  advantages  which  they 
had  never  enjoyed  in  the  Union." 

"  And  I  think,"  said  Colonel  Robinson,  "  that  the  wo- 
men and  ministers  have  largely  fed  and  fanned  the  fires 
of  this  Rebellion,  and  have  helped  to  create  a  public 
opinion  which  has  swept  numbers  of  benighted  men  into 
the  conflict.  Well  might  one  of  their  own  men  say, 
'This  is  a  rich  man's  war  and  a  poor  man's  fight.' 
They  were  led  into  it  through  their  ignorance,  and  held 
in  it  by  their  fears." 

"  I  think,"  said  Captain  Sybil,  "that  if  the  public 
school  had  been  common  through  the  South  this  war 
would  never  have  occurred.  Now  things  have  reached 
such  a  pass  that  able-bodied  men  must  report  at  head- 
quarters, or  be  treated  as  deserters.  Their  leaders  are 
desperate  men,  of  whom  it  has  been  said  :  '  They  have 
robbed  the  cradle  and  the  grave.'" 

"  They  are  fighting  against  fearful  odds,"  said  Colonel 
Robinson,  "  and  their  defeat  is  only  a  question  of 
time." 

"As  soon,"  said  Robert,  "as  they  fired  on  Fort  Sum- 
ter, Uncle  Daniel,  a  dear  old  father  who  had  been  pray- 
ing and  hoping  for  freedom,  said  to  me :  '  Dey's  fired 
on  Fort  Sumter,  an'  mark  my  words,  Bob,  de  Norf's 
boun'  ter  whip.' " 

"  Had  we  freed  the  slaves  at  the  outset,"  said  Captain 
Sybil,  "  we  wouldn't  have  given  the  Rebels  so  much 
opportunity  to  strengthen  themselves  by  means  of  slave 
labor  in  raising  their  crops,  throwing  up  their  entrench- 
ments, and  building  their  fortifications.  Slavery  was  a 
deadly  cancer  eating  into  the  life  of  the  nation ;    but, 


132  IOLA    LEROY, 

somehow,  it  had  cast  such  a  glamour  over  us  that  we 
have  acted  somewhat  as  if  our  national  safety  were  better 
preserved  by  sparing  the  cancer  than  by  cutting  it  out." 

"  Political  and  racial  questions  have  sadly  complicated 
this  matter,"  said  Colonel  Robinson.  "  The  North  is 
not  wholly  made  up  of  anti-slavery  people.  At  the  be- 
ginning of  this  war  we  were  not  permeated  with  justice, 
and  so  were  not  ripe  for  victory.  The  battle  of  Bull 
Run  inaugurated  the  war  by  a  failure.  Instead  of  glory 
we  gathered  shame,  and  defeat  in  place  of  victory." 

"We  have  been  slow,"  said  Captain  Sybil,  "to  see 
our  danger  and  to  do  our  duty.  Our  delay  has  cost  us 
thousands  of  lives  and  millions  of  dollars.  Yet  it  may 
be  it  is  all  for  the  best.  Our  national  wound  was  too 
deep  to  be  lightly  healed.  When  the  President  issued 
his  Emancipation  Proclamation  my  heart  overflowed 
with  joy,  and  I  said  :  '  This  is  the  first  bright  rift  in  the 
war  cloud.' " 

"And  did  you  really  think  that  they  would  accept 
the  terms  of  freedom  and  lay  down  their  arms  ?  "  asked 
Robert. 

"  I  hardly  thought  they  would,"  continued  Captain 
Sybil.  "  I  did  not  think  that  their  leaders  would  per- 
mit it.  I  believe  the  rank  and  file  of  their  army  are 
largely  composed  of  a  mass  of  ignorance,  led,  manipu- 
lated, and  moulded  by  educated  and  ambitious  wicked- 
ness. In  attempting  to  overthrow  the  Union,  a  despot- 
ism and  reign  of  terror  were  created  which  encompassed 
them  as  fetters  of  iron,  and  they  will  not  accept  the 
conditions  until  they  have  reached  the  last  extremity. 
I  hardly  think  they  are  yet  willing  to  confess  that  such 
extremity  has  been  reached." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 33 

"  Captain,"  said  Robert,  as  they  left  Colonel  Robin- 
son's tent,  "  I  have  lived  all  my  life  where  I  have  had  a 
chance  to  hear  the  '  Secesh '  talk,  and  when  they  left 
their  papers  around  I  used  to  read  everything  I  could 
lay  my  hands  on.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  big  white 
men  not  only  ruled  over  the  poor  whites  and  made  laws 
for  them,  but  over  the  whole  nation." 

"That  was  so,"  replied  Captain  Sybil.  "  The  North 
was  strong  but  forbearing.  It  was  busy  in  trade  and 
commerce,  and  permitted  them  to  make  the  Northern 
States  hunting-grounds  for  their  slaves.  When  we  sent 
back  Simms  and  Burns  from  beneath  the  shadow  of 
Bunker  Hill  Monument  and  Faneuil  Hall,  they  mistook 
us;  looked  upon  us  as  a  lot  of  money-grabbers,  who 
would  be  willing  to  purchase  peace  at  any  price.  I  do 
not  believe  when  they  fired  on  the  'Star  of  the  West' 
that  they  had  the  least  apprehension  of  the  fearful  re- 
sults which  were  to  follow  their  madness  and  folly." 

"  Well,  Captain,"  asked  Robert,  "  if  the  free  North 
would  submit  to  be  called  on  to  help  them  catch  their 
slaves,  what  could  be  expected  of  us,  who  all  our  lives 
had  known  no  other  condition  than  that  of  slavery  ? 
How  much  braver  would  you  have  been,  if  your  first 
recollections  had  been  those  of  seeing  your  mother  mal- 
treated, your  father  cruelly  beaten,  or  your  fellow-ser- 
vants brutally  murdered  ?  I  wonder  why  they  never 
enslaved  the  Indians  !  " 

"You  are  mistaken,  Robert,  if  you  think  the  Indians 
were  never  enslaved.  I  have  read  that  the  Spaniards 
who  visited  the  coasts  of  America  kidnapped  thousands 
of  Indians,  whom  they  sent  to  Europe  and  the  West 
Indies  as  slaves.     Columbus  himself,  we  are  informed, 


134  IOLA   LEROY, 

captured  five  hundred  natives,  and  sent  them  to  Spain. 
The  Indian  had  the  lesser  power  of  endurance,  and  Las 
Cassas  suggested  the  enslavement  of  the  negro,  because 
he  seemed  to  possess  greater  breadth  of  physical  organ- 
ization and  stronger  power  of  endurance.  Slavery  was 
an  old  world's  crime  which,  I  have  heard,  the  Indians 
never  practiced  among  themselves.  Perhaps  it  would 
have  been  harder  to  reduce  them  to  slavery  and  hold 
them  in  bondage  when  they  had  a  vast  continent,  before 
them,  where  they  could  hide  in  the  fastnesses  of  its 
mountains  or  the  seclusion  of  its  forests,  than  it  was  for 
white  men  to  visit  the  coasts  of  Africa  and,  with  their 
superior  knowledge,  obtain  cargoes  of  slaves,  bring  them 
across  the  ocean,  hem  them  in  on  the  plantations,  and 
surround  them  with  a  pall  of  dense  ignorance." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Robert,  "  in  reading  a  history  I 
once  came  across  at  our  house,  that  when  the  Africans 
first  came  to  this  country  they  did  not  all  speak  one  lan- 
guage. Some  had  only  met  as  mutual  enemies.  They 
were  not  all  one  color,  their  complexions  ranging  from 
tawny  yellow  to  deep  black." 

"  Yes,"  said  Captain  Sybil,  "  and  in  dealing  with  the 
negro  we  wanted  his  labor ;  in  dealing  with  the  Indian 
we  wanted  his  lands.  For  one  we  had  weapons  of  war; 
for  the  other  we  had  real  and  invisible  chains,  the  coer- 
cion of  force,  and  the  terror  of  the  unseen,  world." 

"  That's  exactly  so,  Captain  !  When  I  was  a  boy 
I  used  to  hear  the  old  folks  tell  what  would  happen  to 
bad  people  in  another  world ;  about  the  devil  pouring 
hot  lead  down  people's  throats  and  stirring  them  up 
with  a  pitch-fork  ;  and  I  used  to  get  so  scared  that  I 
would  be  afraid  to  go  to  bed  at  night.     I  don't  suppose 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 35 

the  Indians  ever  heard  of  such  things,  or,  if  they  had,  I 
never  heard  of  them  being  willing  to  give  away  all  their 
lands  on  earth,  and  quietly  wait  for  a  home  in  heaven." 

"  But,  surely,  Robert,  you  do  not  think  religion  has 
degraded  the  negro  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  say  that.  But  a  man  is  in  a  tight 
fix  when  he  takes  his  part,  like  Nat  Turner  or  Denmark 
Veasy,  and  is  made  to  fear  that  he  will  be  hanged  in 
this  world  and  be  burned  in  the  next.  And,  since  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  we  colored  folks  used  to  get  might- 
ily mixed  up  about  our  religion.  Mr.  Gundover  had 
on  his  plantation  a  real  smart  man.  He  was  religious, 
but  he  would  steal." 

"  Oh,  Robert,"  queried  Sybil,  "  how  could  he  be  re- 
ligious and  steal  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  think,"  retorted  Robert,  "  it  was  any 
harm  to  steal  from  his  master.  I  guess  he  thought  it 
was  right  to  get  from  his  master  all  he  could.  He 
would  have  thought  it  wrong  to  steal  from  his  fellow- 
servants.  He  thought  that  downright  mean,  but  I 
wouldn't  have  insured  the  lives  of  Gundover's  pigs  and 
chickens,  if  Uncle  Jack  got  them  in  a  tight  place.  One 
day  there  was  a  minister  stopping  with  Mr.  Gundover. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  in  speaking  of  his  servants,  he 
gave  Jack's  sins  an  airing.  He  would  much  rather  con- 
fess Jack's  sins  than  his  own.  Now  Gundover  wanted 
to  do  two  things,  save  his  pigs  and  poultry,  and  save 
Jack's  soul.  He  told  the  minister  that  Jack  was  a  liar 
and  a  thief,  and  gave  the  minister  a  chance  to  talk  with 
Uncle  Jack  about  the  state  of  his  soul.  Uncle  Jack 
listened  very  quietly,  and  when  taxed  with  stealing  his 
master's  wheat  he  was  ready  with  an  answer.     '  Now 


I36  IOLA   LEROY, 

Massa  Parker,'  said  Jack,  '  lem'me  tell  yer  jis'  how  it  war 
'bout  dat  wheat.  Wen  ole  Jack  com'd  down  yere,  dis 
place  war  all  growed  up  in  woods.  He  go  ter  work, 
clared  up  de  groun'  an'  plowed,  an'  planted,  an'  riz  £ 
crap,  an'  den  wen  it  war  all  done,  he  hadn't  a  dollar  to 
buy  his  ole  woman  a  gown ;  an'  he  jis'  took  a  bag  ob 
wheat.' " 

"What  did  Mr.  Parker  say?"  asked  Sybil. 

"  I  don't  know,  though  I  reckon  he  didn't  think  it 
was  a  bad  steal  after  all,  but  I  don't  suppose  he  told 
Jack  so.  When  he  came  to  the  next  point,  about  Jack's 
lying,  I  suppose  he  thought  he  had  a  clear  case ;  but 
Jack  was  equal  to  the  occasion." 

"  How  did  he  clear  up  that  charge  ? "  interrogated 
Captain  Sybil. 

"  Finely.  I  think  if  he  had  been  educated  he  would 
have  made  a  first-rate  lawyer.  He  said,  '  Marse  Parker, 
dere's  old  Joe.  His  wife  don't  lib  on  dis  plantation. 
Old  Joe  go  ober  ter  see  her,  but  he  stayed  too  long,  an' 
didn't  git  back  in  time  fer  his  work.  Massa's  oberseer 
kotched  him  an'  cut  him  all  up.  When  de  oberseer 
went  inter  de  house,  pore  old  Joe  war  all  tired  an'  beat 
up,  an'  so  he  lay  down  by  de  fence  corner  and  go  ter 
sleep.  Bimeby  Massa  oberseer  com'd  an'  axed,  "all 
bin  a  workin'  libely  ?  "  I  say  "  Yes,  Massa.'"  Then  said 
Mr.  Parker,  '  You  were  lying,  Joe  had  been  sleeping,  not 
working.'  '  I  know's  dat,  but  ef  I  tole  on  Joe,  Massa 
oberseer  cut  him  all  up  again,  and  Massa  Jesus  says, 
"  Blessed  am  de  Peacemaker."'  I  heard,  continued  Rob- 
ert, that  Mr.  Parker  said  to  Gundover,  '  You  seem  to 
me  like  a  man  standing  in  a  stream  where  the  blood  of 
Jesus  can  reach  you,  but  you  are  standing  between  it 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 37 

and  your  slaves.  How  will  you  answer  that  in  the  Day 
of  Judgment  ?  '  " 

"  What  did  Gundover  say  ?  "  asked  Captain  Sybil. 

"  He  turned  pale,  and  said,  '  For  God's  sake  don't 
speak  of  the  Day  of  Judgment  in  connection  with 
slavery.' " 

Just  then  a  messenger  brought  a  communication  to 
Captain  Sybil.  He  read  it  attentively,  and,  turning  to 
Robert,  said,  "  Here  are  orders  for  an  engagement  at 
Five  Forks  to-morrow.  Oh,  this  wasting  of  life  and 
scattering  of  treasure  might  have  been  saved  had  we 
only  been  wiser.  But  the  time  is  passing.  Look  after 
your  company,  and  see  that  everything  is  in  readiness 
as  soon  as  possible." 

Carefully  Robert  superintended  the  arrangements  for 
the  coming  battle  of  a  strife  which  for  years  had  thrown 
its  crimson  shadows  over  the  land.  The  Rebels  fought 
with  a  valor  worthy  of  a  better  cause.  The  disaster  of 
Bull  Run  had  been  retrieved.  Sherman  had  made  his 
famous  march  to  the  sea.  Fighting  Joe  Hooker  had 
scaled  the  stronghold  of  the  storm  king  and  won  a  vic- 
tory in  the  palace  chamber  of  the  clouds;  the  Union 
soldiers  had  captured  Columbia,  replanted  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  in  Charleston,  and  changed  that  old  sepulchre 
of  slavery  into  the  cradle  of  a  new-born  freedom.  Far- 
ragut  had  been  as  triumphant  on  water  as  the  other 
generals  had  been  victorious  on  land,  and  New  Orleans 
had  been  wrenched  from  the  hands  of  the  Confederacy. 
The  Rebel  leaders  were  obstinate.  Misguided  hordes 
had  followed  them  to  defeat  and  death.  Grant  was 
firm  and  determined  to  fight  it  out  if  it  took  all  summer. 
The  closing  battles  were  fought  with  desperate  courage 


138  IOLA   LEROY, 

and  firm  resistance,  but  at  last  the  South  was  forced  to 
succumb.  On  the  ninth  day  of  April,  1865,  General  Lee 
surrendered  to  General  Grant.  The  lost  cause  went 
down  in  blood  and  tears,  and  on  the  brows  of  a  ran- 
somed people  God  poured  the  chrism  of  a  new  era,  and 
they  stood  a  race  newly  anointed  with  freedom. 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 39 

i 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

AFTER   THE   BATTLE. 

VERY  sad  and  heart-rending  were  the  scenes  with 
which  Iola  came  in  constant  contact.  Well  may- 
Christian  men  and  women  labor  and  pray  for  the 
time  when  nations  shall  learn  war  no  more  ;  when, 
instead  of  bloody  conflicts,  there  shall  be  peaceful  ar- 
bitration. The  battle  in  which  Robert  fought,  after 
his  last  conversation  with  Captain  Sybil,  was  one  of 
the  decisive  struggles  of  the  closing  conflict.  The  mills 
of  doom  and  fate  had  ground  out  a  fearful  grist  of 
agony  and  death, 

"  And  lives  of  men  and  souls  of  States 
Were  thrown  like  chaff  beyond  the  gates." 

Numbers  were  taken  prisoners.  Pale,  young  corpses 
strewed  the  earth ;  manhood  was  stricken  down  in  the 
flush  of  its  energy  and  prime.  The  ambulances  brought 
in  the  wounded  and  dying.  Captain  Sybil  laid  down 
his  life  on  the  altar  of  freedom.  His  prediction  was  ful- 
filled. Robert  was  brought  into  the  hospital,  wounded, 
but  not  dangerously.  Iola  remembered  him  as  being 
the  friend  of  Tom  Anderson,  and  her  heart  was  drawn 
instinctively  towards  him.  For  awhile  he  was  delirious, 
but  her  presence  had  a  soothing  effect  upon  him.  He 
sometimes  imagined  that  she  was  his  mother,  and  he 
would  tell  her  how  he  had  missed  her;  and  then  at 
times  he  would  call  her  sister.  Iola,  tender  and  com- 
passionate, humored  his  fancies,  and  would  sing  to  him 


140  IOLA   LEROY, 

in  low,  sweet  tones  some  of  the  hymns  she  had  learned 
in  her  old  home  in  Mississippi.  One  day  she  sang  a 
few  verses  of  the  hymn  beginning  with  the  words — 

"Drooping  souls  no  longer  grieve, 
Heaven  is  propitious  ; 
If  on  Christ  you  do  believe, 
You  will  find  Him  precious." 

"  That,"  said  he,  looking  earnestly  into  Iola's  face, 
"was  my  mother's  hymn.  I  have  not  heard  it  for 
years.     Where  did  you  learn  it  ? " 

Iola  gazed  inquiringly  upon  the  face  of  her  patient, 
and  saw,  by  his  clear  gaze  and  the  expression  of  his 
face,  that  his  reason  had  returned. 

"  In  my  home,  in  Mississippi,  from  my  own  dear 
mother,"  was  Iola's  reply. 

"  Do  you  know  where  she  learned  it  ? "  asked 
Robert. 

"When  she  was  a  little  girl  she  heard  her  mother 
sing  it.  Years  after,  a  Methodist  preacher  came  to 
our  house,  sang  this  hymn,  and  left  the  book  behind 
him.  My  father  was  a  Catholic,  but  my  mother  never 
went  to  any  church.  I  did  not  understand  it  then, 
but  I  do  now.  We  used  to  sing  together,  and  read 
the  Bible  when  we  were  alone." 

"  Do  you  remember  where  she  came  from,  and  who 
was  her  mother?"  asked  Robert,  anxiously. 

"  My  dear  friend,  you  must  be  quiet.  The  fever 
has  left  you,  but  I  will  not  answer  for  the  conse- 
quences if  you  get  excited." 

Robert  lay  quiet  and  thoughtful  for  awhile  and,  see- 
ing he  was  wakeful,  Iola  said,  "  Have  you  any  friends  to 
whom  you  would  like  to  send  a  letter  ?  " 


'  OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  I4I 

A  pathetic  expression  flitted  over  his  face,  as  he 
sadly  replied,  "  I  haven't,  to  my  knowledge,  a  single  re- 
lation in  the  world.  When  I  was  about  ten  years  old 
my  mother  and  sister  were  sold  from  me.  It  is  more 
than  twenty  years  since  I  have  heard  from  them.  But 
that  hymn  which  you  were  singing  reminded  me  so 
much  of  my  mother!  She  used  to  sing  it  when  I  was 
a  child.     Please  sing  it  again." 

Iola's  voice  rose  soft  and  clear  by  his  bedside,  till  he 
fell  into  a  quiet  slumber.  She  remembered  that  her 
mother  had  spoken  of  her  brother  before  they  had 
parted,  and  her  interest  and  curiosity  were  awakened  by 
Robert's  story.  While  he  slept,  she  closely  scrutinized 
Robert's  features,  and  detected  a  striking  resemblance 
between  him  and  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  I  do  wonder  if  he  can  be  my  mother's  brother, 
from   whom   she  has  been   separated  so  many  years!" 

Anxious  as  she  was  to  ascertain  if  there  was  any  rela- 
tionship between  Robert  and  her  mother,  she  forebore 
to  question  him  on  the  subject  which  lay  so  near  her 
heart.  But  one  day,  when  he  was  so  far  recovered  as 
to  be  able  to  walk  around,  he  met  Iola  on  the  hospital 
grounds,  and  said  to  her: — 

"  Miss  Iola,  you  remind  me  so  much  of  my  mother 
and  sister  that  I  cannot  help  wondering  if  you  are  the 
daughter  of  my  long-lost  sister." 

"Do  you  think,"  asked  Iola,  "if  you  saw  the  likeness 
of  your  sister  you  would  recognize  her?" 

"I  am  afraid  not.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  can  re- 
member about  her :  she  used  to  have  a  mole  on  her 
cheek,  which  mother  used  to  tell  her  was  her  beauty 
spot." 


142  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  Look  at  this,"  said  Iola,  handing  him  a  locket  which 
contained  her  mother's  picture. 

Robert  grasped  the  locket  eagerly,  scanned  the  feat- 
ures attentively,  then,  handing  it  back,  said :  "  I  have 
only  a  faint  remembrance  of  my  sister's  features;  but  I 
never  could  recognize  in  that  beautiful  woman  the  dear 
little  sister  with  whom  I  used  to  play.  Oh,  the  cruelty 
of  slavery !  How  it  wrenched  and  tore  us  apart ! 
Where  is  your  mother  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  tell,"  answered  Iola.  "  I  left  her  in  Mis- 
sissippi. My  father  was  a  wealthy  Creole  planter,  who 
fell  in  love  with  my  mother.  She  was  his  slave,  but  he 
educated  her  in  the  North,  freed,  and  married  her.  My 
father  was  very  careful  to  have  the  fact  of  our  negro 
blood  concealed  from  us.  I  had  not  the  slightest  suspi- 
cion of  it.  When  he  was  dead  the  secret  was  revealed. 
His  white  relations  set  aside  my  father's  will,  had  his  mar- 
riage declared  invalid,  and  my  mother  and  her  children 
were  remanded  to  slavery."  Tola  shuddered  as  she  pro- 
nounced the  horrid  word,  and  grew  deadly  pale;  but, 
regaining  her  self-possession,  continued  :  "  Now,  that 
freedom  has  come,  I  intend  to  search  for  my  mother 
until  I  find  her." 

"  I  do  not  wonder,"  said  Robert,  "  that  we  had  this 
war.     The  nation  had  sinned  enough  to  suffer." 

"  Yes,"  said  Iola,  "  if  national  sins  bring  down  national 
judgments,  then  the  nation  is  only  reaping  what  M 
sowed." 

"  What  are  your  plans  for  the  future,  or  have  you 
any  ?  "  asked  Robert. 

"  I  intend  offering  myself  as  a  teacher  in  one  of  the 
schools  which  are  being  opened  in  different  parts  of  the 


<  OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  143 

country,"  replied  Iola.  "  As  soon  as  I  am  able  I  will 
begin  my  search  for  my  dear  mother.  I  will  advertise 
for  her  in  the  papers,  hunt  for  her  in  the  churches,  and 
use  all  the  means  in  my  power  to  get  some  tidings  of 
her  and  my  brother  Harry.  What  a  cruel  thing  it  was 
to  separate  us  !  " 


144  IOLA   LEROY, 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

FLAMES  IN  THE   SCHOOL-ROOM. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  approaching 
Robert  and  Iola.  "  How  are  you  both  ?  You  have 
mended  rapidly,"  turning  to  Robert,  "  but  then  it  was 
only  a  flesh  wound.  Your  general  health  being  good, 
and  your  blood  in  excellent  condition,  it  was  not  hard 
for  you  to  rally." 

"  Where  have  you  been,  Doctor  ?  I  have  a  faint  rec- 
ollection of  having  seen  you  on  the  morning  I  was 
brought  in  from  the  field,  but  not  since." 

"  I  have  been  on  a  furlough.  I  was  running  down 
through  exhaustion  and  overwork,  and  I  was  compelled 
to  go  home  for  a  few  weeks'  rest.  But  now,  as  they  are 
about  to  close  the  hospital,  I  shall  be  permanently  re- 
lieved. I  am  glad  that  this  cruel  strife  is  over.  It 
seemed  as  if  I  had  lived  through  ages  during  these 
last  few  years.  In  the  early  part  of  the  war  I  lost 
my  arm  by  a  stray  shot,  and  my  armless  sleeve  is  one 
of  the  mementos  of  battle  I  shall  carry  with  me  through 
life.  Miss  Leroy,"  he  continued,  turning  respectfully  to 
Iola,  "  would  you  permit  me  to  ask  you,  as  I  would 
have  some  one  ask  my  sister  under  the  same  circum- 
stances, if  you  have  matured  any  plans  for  the  future, 
or  if  I  can  be  of  the  least  service  to  you  ?  If  so,  I 
would  be  pleased  to  render  you  any  service  in  my 
power." 

"  My   purpose,"    replied    Iola,    "  is   to   hunt    for   my 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  I45 

mother,  and  to  find  her  if  she  is  alive.  I  am  willing 
to  go  anywhere  and  do  anything  to  find  her.  But  I 
will  need  a  standpoint  from  whence  I  can  send  out  lines 
of  inquiry.  It  must  take  time,  in  the  disordered  state 
of  affairs,  even  to  get  a  clue  by  which  I  may  discover 
her  whereabouts." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  teach  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 
"Schools  are  being  opened  all  around  us.  Numbers  of 
excellent  and  superior  women  are  coming  from  the 
North  to  engage  as  teachers  of  the  freed  people. 
Would  you  be  willing  to  take  a  school  among  these 
people  ?  I  think  it  will  be  uphill  work.  I  believe  it 
will  take  generations  to  get  over  the  duncery  of  slav- 
ery. Some  of  these  poor  fellows  who  came  into  our 
camp  did  not  know  their  right  hands  from  their  left,  nor 
their  ages,  nor  even  the  days  of  the  month.  It  took  me 
some  time,  in  a  number  of  cases,  to  understand  their 
language.  It  saddened  my  heart  to  see  such  ignorance. 
One  day  I  asked  one  a  question,  and  he  answered,  "  I 
no  shum'.1' 

"What  did  he  mean  ?"  asked  Iola." 

"  That  he  did  not  see  it,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  Of 
course,  this  docs  not  apply  to  all  of  them.  Some  of 
them  are  wide-awake  and  sharp  as  steel  traps.  I  think 
some  of  that  class  may  be  used  in  helping  others." 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have  an  opportunity  to 
teach,"  said  Iola.  "  I  used  to  be  a  great  favorite  among 
the  colored  children  on  my  father's  plantation." 

In  a  few  days  after  this  conversation  the  hospital  was 
closed.  The  sick  and  convalescent  were  removed,  and 
Iola  obtained  a  position  as  a  teacher.  Very  soon  Iola 
realized  that  while  she  was  heartily  appreciated  by  the 


I46  IOLA    LEROV, 

freedmen,  she  Avas  an  object  of  suspicion  and  dislike  to 
their  former  owners.  The  North  had  conquered  by  the 
supremacy  of  the  sword,  and  the  South  had  bowed  to 
the  inevitable.  But  here  was  a  new  army  that  had 
come  with  an  invasion  of  ideas,  that  had  come  to  sup- 
plant ignorance  with  knowledge,  and  it  was  natural  that 
its  members  should  be  unwelcome  to  those  who  had 
made  it  a  crime  to  teach  their  slaves  to  read  the  name 
of  the  ever  blessed  Christ.  But  Iola  had  found  her 
work,  and  the  freedmen  their  friend. 

When  Iola  opened  her  school  she  took  pains  to  get 
acquainted  with  the  parents  of  the  children,  and  she 
gained  their  confidence  and  co-operation.  Her  face  was 
a  passport  to  their  hearts.  Ignorant  of  books,  human 
faces  were  the  scrolls  from  which  they  had  been  reading 
for  ages.  They  had  been  the  sunshine  and  shadow  of 
their  lives. 

Iola  had  found  a  school-room  in  the  basement  of  a 
colored  church,  where  the  doors  were  willingly  opened 
to  her.  Her  pupils  came  from  miles  around,  ready  and 
anxious  to  get  some  "  book  larnin'."  Some  of  the  old 
folks  were  eager  to  learn,  and  it  was  touching  to  see  the 
eyes  which  had  grown  dim  under  the  shadows  of  slavery, 
donning  spectacles  and  trying  to  make  out  the  words. 
As  Iola  had  nearly  all  of  her  life  been  accustomed  to 
colored  children  she  had  no  physical  repulsions  to  over- 
come, no  prejudices  to  conquer  in  dealing  with  parents 
and  children.  In  their  simple  childish  fashion  they 
would  bring  her  fruits  and  flowers,  and  gladden  her 
lonely  heart  with  little  tokens  of  affection. 

One  day  a  gentleman  came  to  the  school  and  wished 
to  address  the  children.     Iola  suspended  the  regular 


■  OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  147 

order  of  the  school,  and  the  gentleman  essayed  to  talk 
to  them  on  the  achievements  of  the  white  race,  such  as 
building  steamboats  and  carrying  on  business.  Finally, 
he  asked  how  they  did  it  ? 

"  They've  got  money,"  chorused  the  children. 

"  But  how  did  they  get  it  ?  " 

"  They  took  it  from  us,"  chimed  the  youngsters.  Iola 
smiled,  and  the  gentleman  was  nonplussed ;  but  he 
could  not  deny  that  one  of  the  powers  of  knowledge  is 
the  power  of  the  strong  to  oppress  the  weak. 

The  school  was  soon  overcrowded  with  applicants, 
and  Iola  was  forced  to  refuse  numbers,  because  their 
quarters  were  too  cramped.  The  school  was  beginning 
to  lift  up  the  home,  for  Iola  was  not  satisfied  to  teach 
her  children  only  the  rudiments  of  knowledge.  She 
had  tried  to  lay  the  foundation  of  good  character.  But 
the  elements  of  evil  burst  upon  her  loved  and  cherished 
work.  One  night  the  heavens  were  lighted  with  lurid 
flames,  and  Iola  beheld  the  school,  the  pride  and  joy  of 
her  pupils  and  their  parents,  a  smouldering  ruin.  Iola 
gazed  with  sorrowful  dismay  on  what  seemed  the  cruel 
work  of  an  incendiary's  torch.  While  she  sat,  mourn- 
fully contemplating  the  work  of  destruction,  her  children 
formed  a  procession,  and,  passing  by  the  wreck  of  their 
school,  sang : — 

"Oh,  do  not  be  discouraged, 
For  Jesus  is  your  friend." 

As  they  sang,  the  tears  sprang  to  Iola's  eyes,  and  she 
said  to  herself,  "  I  am  not  despondent  of  the  future  of 
my  people;  there  is  too  much  elasticity  in  their  spirits, 
too  much  hope  in  their  hearts,  to  be  crushed  out  by  un- 
reasoning malice." 


148  IOLA   LEROY, 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SEARCHING  FOR   LOST   ONES. 

To  BIND  anew  the  ties  which  slavery  had  broken  and 
gather  together  the  remnants  of  his  scattered  family  be- 
came the  earnest  purpose  of  Robert's  life.  Iola,  hopeful 
that  in  Robert  she  had  found  her  mother's  brother,  was 
glad  to  know  she  was  not  alone  in  her  search.  Having 
sent  out  lines  of  inquiry  in  different  directions,  she  was 
led  to  hope,  from  some  of  the  replies  she  had  received, 
that  her  mother  was  living  somewhere  in  Georgia. 

Hearing  that  a  Methodist  conference  was  to  convene 
in  that  State,  and  being  acquainted  with  the  bishop  of 
that  district,  she  made  arrangements  to  accompany  him 
thither.  She  hoped  to  gather  some  tidings  of  her 
mother  through  the  ministers  gathered  from  different 
parts  of  that  State. 

From  her  brother  she  had  heard  nothing  since  her 
father's  death.  On  his  way  to  the  conference,  the  bishop 
had  an  engagement  to  dedicate  a  church,  near  the  city 

of  C ,  in  North  Carolina.     Iola  was  quite  willing  to 

stop  there  a  few  days,  hoping  to  hear  something  of 
Robert  Johnson's  mother.  Soon  after  she  had  seated 
herself  in  the  cars  she  was  approached  by  a  gentleman, 
who  reached  out  his  hand  to  her,  and  greeted  her  with 
great  cordiality.  Iola  looked  up,  and  recognized  him 
immediately  as  one  of  her  last  patients  at  the  hospital. 
It  was  none  other  than  Robert  Johnson. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  meet  you,"  he  said.     "  I  am  on  my 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  149 

way  to  C in  search  of  my  mother.     I  want  to  see 

the  person  who  sold  her  last,  and,  if  possible,  get  some 
clew  to  the  direction  in  which  she  went." 

"  And  I,"  said  Iola,  "  am  in  search  of  my  mother.  I 
am  convinced  that  when  we  find  those  for  whom  we  are 
searching  they  will  prove  to  be  very  nearly  related. 
Mamma  said,  before  we  were  parted,  that  her  brother 
had  a  red  spot  on  his  temple.  If  I  could  see  that  spot  I 
should  rest  assured  that  my  mother  is  your  sister." 

"  Then,"  said  Robert,  "  I  can  give  you  that  assur- 
ance," and  smilingly  he  lifted  his  hair  from  his  temple, 
on  which  was  a  large,  red  spot. 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  exclaimed  Iola,  fixing  her  eyes,  beam- 
ing with  hope  and  confidence,  on  Robert.  "  Oh,  I  am 
so  glad  that  I  can,  without  the  least  hesitation,  accept 
your  services  to  join  with  me  in  the  further  search. 
What  are  your  plans  ?  " 

"  To  stop  for  awhile  in  C ,"  said   Robert,  "  and 

gather  all  the  information  possible  from  those  who  sold 
and  bought  my  mother.  I  intend  to  leave  no  stone  un- 
turned in  searching  for  her." 

"  Oh,  I  do  hope  that  you  will  succeed.  I  expect  to 
stop  over  there  a  few  days,  and  I  shall  be  so  glad  if,  be- 
fore I  leave,  I  hear  your  search  has  been  crowned  with 
success,  or,  a  least,  that  you  have  been  put  on  the  right 
track.  Although  I  was  born  and  raised  in  the  midst  of 
slavery,  I  had  not  the  least  idea  of  its  barbarous  selfish- 
ness till  I  was  forced  to  pass  through  it.  But  we  lived 
so  much  alone  I  had  no  opportunity  to  study  it,  except 
on  our  own  plantation.  My  father  and  mother  were 
very  kind  to  their  slaves.  But  it  was  slavery,  all  the 
same,  and  I  hate  it,  root  and  branch." 


150  IOLA   LEROV, 

Just  then  the  conductor  called  out  the  station. 

"  We  stop  here,"  said  Robert.  "  I  am  going  to  see 
Mrs.  Johnson,  and  hunt  up  some  of  my  old  acquaint- 
ances.     Where  do  you  stop  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Iola.     "  I  expect  that  friends 

will  be  here  to   meet   us.     Bishop   B ,  permit    me 

to  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Robert  Johnson,  whom  I 
have  every  reason  to  believe  is  my  mother's  brother. 
Like  myself,  he  is  engaged  in  hunting  up  his  lost  rela- 
tives." 

"  And  I,"  said  Robert,  "  am  very  much  pleased  to 
know  that  we  are  not  without  favorable  clues." 

"  Bishop,"  said  Iola,  "  Mr.  Johnson  wishes  to  know 
where  I  am  to  stop.  He  is  going  on  an  exploring  ex- 
pedition, and  wishes  to  let  me  know  the  result." 

"  We  stop  at  Mrs.  Allston's,  313  New  Street,"  said  the 
bishop.  "  If  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  you,  I  am  at  your 
service." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Robert,  lifting  his  hat,  as  he  left 
them  to  pursue  his  inquiries  about  his  long-lost  mother. 

Quickly  he  trod  the  old  familiar  streets  which  led  to 
his  former  home.  He  found  Mrs.  Johnson,  but  she  had 
aged  very  fast  since  the  war.  She  was  no  longer  the 
lithe,  active  woman,  with  her  proud  manner  and  resolute 
bearing.  Her  eye  had  lost  its  brightness,  her  step  its 
elasticity,  and  her  whole  appearance  indicated  that  she 
was  slowly  sinking  beneath  a  weight  of  sorrow  which 
was  heavier  far  than  her  weight  of  years.  When  she 
heard  that  Robert  had  called  to  see  her  she  was  going 
to  receive  him  in  the  hall,  as  she  would  have  done  any 
of  her  former  slaves,  but  her  mind  immediately  changed 
when  she  saw  him.     He  was  not  the  light-hearted,  care- 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  I  5  I 

less,  mischief-loving  Robby  of  former  days,  but  a  hand- 
some man,  with  heavy  moustache,  dark,  earnest  eyes, 
and  proud  military  bearing.  He  smiled,  and  reached 
out  his  hand  to  her.  She  hardly  knew  how  to  address 
him.  To  her  colored  people  were  either  boys  and  girls, 
or  "  aunties  and  uncles."  She  had  never  in  her  life  ad- 
dressed a  colored  person  as  "  Mr.  or  Mrs."  To  do  so 
now  was  to  violate  the  social  customs  of  the  place.  It 
would  be  like  learning  a  new  language  in  her  old  age. 
Robert  immediately  set  her  at  ease  by  addressing  her 
under  the  old  familiar  name  of  "  Miss  Nancy."  This 
immediately  relieved  her  of  all  embarrassment.  She  in- 
vited him  into  the  sitting-room,  and  gave  him  a  warm 
welcome. 

"  Well,  Robby,"  she  said,  "  I  once  thought  that  you 
would  have  been  the  last  one  to  leave  me.  You  know 
I  never  ill-treated  you,  and  I  gave  you  everything  you 
needed.  People  said  that  I  was  spoiling  you.  I  thought 
you  were  as  happy  as  the  days  were  long.  When  I  heard 
of  other  people's  servants  leaving  them  I  used  to  say  to 
myself,  '  I  can  trust  my  Bobby ;  he  will  stick  to  me  to 
the  last.'  But  I  fooled  myself  that  time.  Soon  as  the 
Yankee  soldiers  got  in  sight  you  left  me  without  saying 
a  word.  That  morning  I  came  down  into  the  kitchen 
and  asked  Linda,  '  Where's  Robert  ?  Why  hasn't  he  set 
the  table?'  She  said  'she  hadn't  seen  you  since  the 
night  before.'  I  thought  maybe  you  were  sick,  and  I 
went  to  see,  but  you  were  not  in  your  room.  I  couldn't 
believe  at  first  that  you  were  gone.  Wasn't  I  always 
good  to  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  Miss  Nancy,"  replied  Robert ;  "  you  were  good, 
but  freedom  was  better." 


152  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  musingly,  "I  suppose  I  would  have 
done  the  same.  But,  Robby,  it  did  go  hard  with  me  at 
first.  However,  I  soon  found  out  that  my  neighbors 
had  been  going  through  the  same  thing.  But  its  all 
over  now.  Let  by-gones  be  by-gones.  What  are  you 
doing  now,  and  where  are  you  living  ?  " 

"  I  am  living  in  the  city  of  P- -.     I  have  opened  a 

hardware  store  there.  But  just  now  I  am  in  search  of 
my  mother  and  sister." 

"  I  hope  that  you  may  find  them." 

"  How  long,"  asked  Robert,  "  do  you  think  it  has 
been  since  they  left  here  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see;  it  must  have  been  nearly  thirty  years. 
You  got  my  letter  ?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am;  thank  you." 

"  There  have  been  great  changes  since  you  left  here," 
Mrs.  Johnson  said.  "  Gundover  died,  and  a  number  of 
colored  men  have  banded  together,  bought  his  planta- 
tion, and  divided  it  among  themselves.  And  I  hear  they 
have  a  very  nice  settlement  out  there.  I  hope,  since  the 
Government  has  set  them  free,  that  they  will  succeed." 

After  Robert's  interview  with  Mrs.  Johnson  he 
thought  he  would  visit  the  settlement  and  hunt  up 
his  old  friends.  He  easily  found  the  place.  It  was 
on  a  clearing  in  Gundover's  woods,  where  Robert  and 
Uncle  Daniel  had  held  their  last  prayer-meeting.  Now 
the  gloomy  silence  of  those  woods  was  broken  by  the 
hum  of  industry,  the  murmur  of  cheerful  voices,  and 
the  merry  laughter  of  happy  children.  Where  they  had 
trodden  with  fear  and  misgiving,  freedmen  walked  with 
light  and  bounding  hearts.  The  school-house  had  taken 
the  place  of  the  slave-pen  and  auction-block. 


,  OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  1 53 

"  How  is  yer,  ole  boy  ?"  asked  one  laborer  of  another. 

"  Everything  is  lobly,"  replied  the  other.  The  blue 
sky  arching  overhead  and  the  beauty  of  the  scenery  jus- 
tified the  expression. 

Gundover  had  died  soon  after  the  surrender.  Frank 
Anderson  had  grown  reckless  and  drank  himself  to 
death.  His  brother  Tom  had  been  killed  in  battle. 
Their  mother,  who  was  Gundover's  daughter,  had  died 
insane.  Their  father  had  also  passed  away.  The  de- 
feat of  the  Confederates,  the  loss  of  his  sons,  and  the 
emancipation  of  his  slaves,  were  blows  from  which  he 
never  recovered.  As  Robert  passed  leisurely  along,  de- 
lighted with  the  evidences  of  thrift  and  industry  which 
constantly  met  his  eye,  he  stopped  to  admire  a  garden 
filled  with  beautiful  flowers,  clambering  vines,  and  rustic 
adornments. 

On  the  porch  sat  an  elderly  woman,  darning  stock- 
ings, the  very  embodiment  of  content  and  good  humor. 
Robert  looked  inquiringly  at  her.  On  seeing  him,  she 
almost  immediately  exclaimed,  "  Shore  as  I'se  born, 
dat's  Robert !  Look  yere,  honey,  whar  did  yer  come 
from  ?  I'll  gib  my  head  fer  a  choppin'  block  ef  dat  ain't 
Miss  Nancy's  Bob.  Ain't  yer  our  Bobby  ?  Shore  yer  is." 

"Of  course  I  am,"  responded  Robert.  "It  isn't  any- 
body else.     How  did  you  know  me  ?  " 

"How  did  I  know  yer?  By  dem  mischeebous  eyes, 
ob  course.  I'd  a  knowed  yer  if  I  had  seed  yer  in 
Europe." 

"  In  Europe,  Aunt  Linda?     Where's  that?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  specs  its  some  big  city,  somewhar. 
But  yer  looks  jis'  splendid.  Yer  looks  good  'nuff  ter 
kiss." 


154  !Ola  LEROY, 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Linda,  don't  say  that.  You  make  me 
blush." 

"  Oh  you  go  'long  wid  yer.  I  specs  yer's  got  a  nice 
little  wife  up  dar  whar  yer  comes  from,  dat  kisses  yer 
ebery  day,  an'  Sunday,  too." 

"  Is  that  the  way  your  old  man  does  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  not  a  bit.  He  isn't  one  ob  de  kissin'  kine. 
But  sit  down,"  she  said,  handing  Robert  a  chair. 
"  Won't  yer  hab  a  glass  ob  milk?  Boy,  I'se  a  libin'  in 
clover.  Neber  'spected  ter  see  sich  good  times  in  all 
my  born  days." 

"Well,  Aunt  Linda,"  said  Robert,  seating  himself 
near  her,  and  drinking  the  glass  of  milk  which  she  had 
handed  him,  "how  goes  the  battle?  How  have  you 
been  getting  on  since  freedom  ?" 

"  Oh,  fust  rate,  fust  rate !  Wen  freedom  com'd  I 
jist  lit  out  ob  Miss  Johnson's  kitchen  soon  as  I  could. 
I  wanted  ter  re'lize  I  war  free,  an'  I  couldn't,  tell  I  got 
out  er  de  sight  and  soun'  ob  ole  Miss.  When  de  war 
war  ober  an'  de  sogers  war  still  stopping'  yere,  I  made 
pies  an'  cakes,  sole  em  to  de  sogers,  an' jist  made  money 
han'  ober  fist.  An'  I  kep'  on  a  workin'  an'  a  savin'  till 
my  ole  man  got  back  from  de  war  wid  his  wages  and 
his  bounty  money.  I  felt  right  set  up  an'  mighty  big 
wen  we  counted  all  dat  money.  We  had  neber  seen  so 
much  money  in  our  lives  befo',  let  alone  hab  it  fer  our- 
selbs.  An'  I  sez,  '  John,  you  take  dis  money  an'  git  a 
nice  place  wid  it.'  An'  he  sez,  '  Dere's  no  use  tryin',  kase 
dey  don't  want  ter  sell  us  any  Ian'.'  Ole  Gundover  said, 
'tore  he  died,  dat  he  would  let  de  Ian'  grow  up  in  trees 
'fore  he'd  sell  it  to  us.  An'  dere  war  Mr.  Brayton;  he 
buyed  some  Ian'  and  sole  it  to  some  cullud  folks,  an'  his 


,  OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 55 

ole  frien's  got  so  mad  wid  him  dat  dey  wouldn't  speak 
ter  him,  an'  he  war  borned  down  yere.  I  tole  ole  Miss 
Anderson's  daughter  dat  we  wanted  ter  git  some  homes 
ob  our  ownselbs.  She  sez,  'Den  you  won't  want  ter 
work  for  us?'  Jis'  de  same  as  ef  we  could  eat  an' drink  our 
houses.  I  tell  yer,  Robby,  dese  white  folks  don't  know 
eberything." 

"  That's  a  fact,  Aunt  Linda." 

"Den  I  sez  ter  John,  'wen  one  door  shuts  anoder 
opens.'  An'  shore  'nough,  ole  Gundover  died,  an'  his 
place  war  all  in  debt,  an'  had  to  be  sole.  Some  Jews 
bought  it,  but  dey  didn't  want  to  farm  it,  so  dey  gib  us 
a  chance  to  buy  it.  Dem  Jews  hez  been  right  helpful 
to  cullud  people  wen  dey  hab  Ian'  to  sell.  I  reckon 
dey  don't  keer  who  buys  it  so  long  as  dey  gits  de  money. 
Well,  John  didn't  gib  in  at  fust ;  didn't  want  to  let  on 
his  wife  knowed  more  dan  he  did,  an'  dat  he  war  ruled 
ober  by  a  woman.  Yer  know  he  is  an'  ole  Firginian, 
an'  some  ob  dem  ole  Firginians  do  so  lub  to  rule  a 
woman.  But  I  kep'  naggin  at  him,  till  I  specs  he  got 
tired  of  my  tongue,  an'  he  went  and  buyed  dis  piece  ob 
Ian'.  Dis  house  war  on  it,  an'  war  all  gwine  to  wrack. 
It  used  to  belong  to  John's  ole  marster.  His  wife  died 
right  in  dis  house,  an'  arter  dat  her  husband  went  right 
to  de  dorgs ;  an'  now  he's  in  de  pore-house.  My !  but 
ain't  dem  tables  turned.  When  we  knowed  it  war  our 
own,  warn't  my  ole  man  proud !  I  seed  it  in  him,  but 
he  wouldn't  let  on.     Ain't  you  men  powerful  'ceitful  ?" 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Linda,  don't  put  me  in  with  the  rest !  " 

"  I  don't  know  'bout  dat.  Put  you  all  in  de  bag  for 
'ceitfulness,  an'  I  don't  know  which  would  git  out 
fust." 


I56  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  Well,  Aunt  Linda,  I  suppose  by  this  time  you  know- 
how  to  read  and  write  ?  " 

"  No,  chile,  sence  freedom's  com'd  I'se  bin  scratchin' 
too  hard  to  get  a  libin'  to  put  my  head  down  to  de 
book." 

"  But,  Aunt  Linda,  it  would  be  such  company  when 
your  husband  is  away,  to  take  a  book.  Do  you  never 
get  lonesome  ?  " 

"  Chile,  I  ain't  got  no  time  ter  get  lonesome.  Ef  you 
had  eber  so  many  chickens  to  feed,  an'  pigs  squealin' 
fer  somethin'  ter  eat,  an'  yore  ducks  an'  geese  squakin' 
'roun'  yer,  yer  wouldn't  hab  time  ter  git  lonesome." 

"  But,  Aunt  Linda,  you  might  be  sick  for  months, 
and  think  what  a  comfort  it  would  be  if  you  could  read 
your  Bible." 

"  Oh,  I  could  hab  prayin'  and  singin'.  Dese  people 
is  mighty  good  'bout  prayin'  by  de  sick.  Why,  Robby, 
I  think  it  would  gib  me  de  hysterics  ef  I  war  to  try  to 
git  book  larnin'  froo  my  pore  ole  head.  How  long  is 
yer  gwine  to  stay  ?     An'  whar  is  yer  stoppin  ?  " 

"  I  got  here  to-day,"  said  Robert,  "  but  I  expect  to 
stay  several  days." 

"  Well,  I  wants  yer  to  meet  my  ole  man,  an'  talk  'bout 
ole  times.  Couldn't  yer  come  an'  stop  wid  me,  or  isn't 
my  house  sniptious  'nuff  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you ;  but  there  is  a  young  lady  in  town 
whom  I  think  is  my  niece,  my  sister's  daughter,  and  I 
want  to  be  with  her  all  I  can." 

"  Your  niece!  Whar  did  you  git  any  niece  from  ?" 

"  Don't  you  remember,"  asked  Robert,  "  that  my 
mother  had  a  little  daughter,  when  Mrs.  Johnson  sold  her? 
Well,  I  believe  this  young  lady  is  that  daughter's  child." 


'  OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  1 57 

"  Laws  a  marcy !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Linda,  "  yer  don't 
tell  me  so  !    Whar  did  yer  ketch  up  wid  her  ?  " 

"  I  met  her  first,"  said  Robert,  "  at  the  hospital  here, 
when  our  poor  Tom  was  dying  ;  and  when  I  was  wound- 
ed at  Five  Forks  she  attended  me  in  the  field  hospital 
there.     She  was  just  as  good  as  gold." 

"Well,  did  I  eber!  You  jis'  fotch  dat  chile  to  see 
me,  ef  she  ain't  too  fine.  I'se  pore,  but  I'se  clean,  an'  I 
ain't  forgot  how  ter  git  up  good  dinners.  Now,  I  wants 
ter  hab  a  good  talk  'bout  our  feller-sarvants." 

"  Yes,  and  I,"  said  Robert,  "  want  to  hear  all  about 
Uncle  Daniel,  and  Jennie,  and  Uncle  Ben  Tunnel." 

"  Well,  I'se  got  lots  an'  gobs  ter  tell  yer.  I'se  kep' 
track  ob  dem  all.  Aunt  Katie  died  an'  went  ter  hebben 
in  a  blaze  ob  glory.  Uncle  Dan'el  stayed  on  de  place 
till  Marse  Robert  com'd  back.  When  de  war  war  ober 
he  war  smashed  all  ter  pieces.  I  did  pity  him  from  de 
bottom  ob  my  heart.  When  he  went  ter  de  war  he 
looked  so  brave  an'  han'some ;  an'  wen  he  com'd  back 
he  looked  orful.  'Fore  he  went  he  gib  Uncle  Dan'el  a 
bag  full  ob  money  ter  take  kere  ob.  'An  wen  he  com'd 
back  Uncle  Dan'el  gibed  him  ebery  cent  ob  it.  It 
warn't  ebery  white  pusson  he  could  hab  trusted  wid  it. 
'Cause  yer  know,  Bobby,  money's  a  mighty  tempt  in' 
thing.  Dey  tells  me  dat  Marster  Robert  los'  a  heap  ob 
property  by  de  war;  but  Marse  Robert  war  always 
mighty  good  ter  Uncle  Dan'el  and  Aunt  Katie.  He 
war  wid  her  wen  she  war  dyin'  an'  she  got  holt  his  han' 
an'  made  him  promise  dat  he  would  meet  her  in  glory. 
I  neber  seed  anybody  so  happy  in  my  life.  She  singed 
an'  prayed  ter  de  last.  I  tell  you  dis  ole  time  religion 
is  good  'nuff  fer  me.     Mr.  Robert  didn't  stay  yere  long 


158  IOLA   LEROY, 

arter  her,  but  I  beliebs  he  went  all  right.  But  'fore  he 
went  he  looked  out  fer  Uncle  Dan'el.  Did  you  see  dat 
nice  little  cabin  down  dere  wid  de  green  shutters  an' 
nice  little  garden  in  front  ?  Well,  'fore  Marse  Robert 
died  he  gib  Uncle  Dan'el  dat  place,  an'  Miss  Mary  and 
de  chillen  looks  arter  him  yet ;  an'  he  libs  jis'  as  snug  as 
a  bug  in  a  rug.  I'se  gwine  ter  axe  him  ter  take  supper 
wid  you.      He'll  be  powerful  glad  ter  see  you." 

"  Do  you  ever  go  to  see  old  Miss  ?"  asked  Robert. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  goes  ebery  now  and  den.  But  she's 
jis'  fell  froo.  Ole  Johnson  jis'  drunk  hisself  to  death. 
He  war  de  biggest  guzzler  I  eber  seed  in  my  life.  Why, 
dat  man  he  drunk  up  ebery  thing  he  could  lay  his  han's 
on.  Sometimes  he  would  go  'roun'  tryin'  to  borrer 
money  from  pore  cullud  folks.  'Twas  rale  drefful  de 
way  dat  pore  feller  did  frow  hisself  away.  But  drink 
did  it  all.  I  tell  you,  Bobby,  dat  drink's  a  drefful 
thing  wen  it  gits  de  upper  han'  ob  you.  You'd  better 
steer  clar  ob  it." 

"  That's  so,"  assented  Robert. 

"  I  know'd  Miss  Nancy's  fadder  and  mudder.  Dey 
war  mighty  rich.  Some  ob  de  real  big  bugs.  Marse 
Jim  used  to  know  dem,  an'  come  ober  ter  de  plantation, 
.an'  eat  an'  drink  wen  he  got  ready,  an'  stay  as  long  as 
he  choose.  Ole  Cousins  used  to  have  wine  at  dere  table 
ebery  day,  an'  Marse  Jim  war  mighty  fon'  ob  dat  wine,  an' 
sometimes  he  would  drink  till  he  got  quite  boozy.  Ole 
Cousins  liked  him  bery  well,  till  he  foun'  out  he  wanted 
his  darter,  an'  den  he  didn't  want  him  fer  rags  nor 
patches.  But  Miss  Nancy  war  mighty  headstrong,  an' 
allers  liked  to  hab  her  own  way ;  an'  dis  time  she  got 
it.     But  didn't  she  step  her  foot  inter  it  ?     Ole  Johnson 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 59 

war  mighty  han'some,  but  when  dat  war  said  all  war 
said.  She  run'd  off  an'  got  married,  but  wen  she  got 
down  she  war  too  spunkey  to  axe  her  pa  for  anything. 
Wen  you  war  wid  her,  yer  know  she  only  took  big  bugs. 
But  wen  de  war  com'd  'roun'  it  tore  her  all  ter  pieces, 
an'  now  she's  as  pore  as  Job's  turkey.  I  feel's  right 
sorry  fer  her.  Well,  Robby,  things  is  turned  'roun' 
mighty  quare.  Ole  Mistus  war  up  den,  an'  I  war 
down ;  now,  she's  down,  an'  I'se  up.  But  I  pities  her, 
'cause  she  warn't  so  bad  arter  all.  De  wuss  thing  she 
eber  did  war  to  sell  your  mudder,  an'  she  wouldn't  hab 
done  dat  but  she  snatched  de  whip  out  ob  her  han'  an 
gib  her  a  lickin'.  Now  I  belieb  in  my  heart  she  war 
'fraid  ob  your  mudder  arter  dat.  But  we  women  had 
ter  keep  'em  from  whippin'  us,  er  dey'd  all  de  time  been 
libin'  on  our  bones.  She  had  no  man  ter  whip  us  'cept 
dat  ole  drunken  husband  ob  hern,  an'  he  war  allers 
too  drunk  ter  whip  hisself.  He  jis'  wandered  off,  an' 
I  reckon  he  died  in  somebody's  pore-house.  He  warn't 
no  'count  nohow  you  fix  it.  Weneber  I  goes  to  town  I 
carries  her  some  garden  sass,  er  a  little  milk  an'  butter. 
An'  she's  mighty  glad  ter  git  it.  I  ain't  got  nothin' 
agin  her.  She  neber  struck  me  a  lick  in  her  life,  an'  I 
belieb  in  praising  de  bridge  dat  carries  me  ober.  Dem 
Yankees  set  me  free,  an'  I  thinks  a  powerful  heap  ob 
dem.  But  it  does  rile  me  ter  see  dese  mean  white  men 
comin'  down  yere  an'settin'  up  dere  grog-shops,  tryin'  to 
fedder  dere  nests  sellin'  licker  to  pore  culled  people. 
Deys  de  bery  kine  ob  men  dat  used  ter  keep  dorgs  to 
ketch  de  runaways.  I'd  be  chokin'  fer  a  drink  'fore  I'd 
eber  spen'  a  cent  wid  dem,  a  spreadin'  dere  traps  to  git 
de  black  folks'  money.     You  jis'  go  down  town  'fore  sun 


l6o  IOLA    LEROY, 

up  to-morrer  mornin'  an'  you  see  ef  dey  don't  hab  dem 
bars  open  to  sell  dere  drams  to  dem  hard  workin'  culled 
people  'fore  dey  goes  ter  work.  I  thinks  some  niggers  is 
mighty  big  fools." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Linda,  don't  run  down  your  race.  Leave 
that  for  the  white  people." 

"  I  ain't  runnin'  down  my  people.  But  a  fool's  a  fool, 
wether  he's  white  or  black.  An'  I  think  de  nigger  who 
will  spen'  his  hard-earned  money  in  dese  yere  new  grog- 
shops is  de  biggest  kine  ob  a  fool,  an'  I  sticks  ter  dat. 
You  know  we  didn't  hab  all  dese  low  places  in  slave 
times.  An'  what  is  dey  fer,  but  to  get  the  people's 
money.  An'  its  a  shame  how  dey  do  sling  de  licker 
'bout  'lection  times." 

"  But  don't  the  temperance  people  want  the  colored 
people  to  vote  the  temperance  ticket  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  some  ob  de  culled  people  gits  mighty  skit- 
tish ef  dey  tries  to  git  em  to  vote  dare  ticket  'lection 
time,  an'  keeps  dem  at  a  proper  distance  wen  de  'lec- 
tion's ober.  Some  ob  dem  say  dere's  a  trick  behine 
it,  an'  don't  want  to  tech  it.  Dese  white  folks  could 
do  a  heap  wid  de  culled  folks  ef  dey'd  only  treat  cm 
right." 

"  When  our  people  say  there  is  a  trick  behind  it,  said 
Robert,"  I  only  wish  they  could  see  the  trick  before  it — 
the  trick  of  worse  than  wasting  their  money,  and  of 
keeping  themselves  and  families  poorer  and  more  igno- 
rant than  there  is  any  need  for  them  to  be." 

"  Well,  Bobby,  I  beliebs  we  might  be  a  people  ef  it 
warn't  for  dat  mizzable  drink.  An'  Robby,  I  jis'  tells 
yer  what  I  wants;  I  wants  some  libe  man  to  come  down 
yere  an'  splain  things  ter  dese  people.     I  don't  mean  a 


<  OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  l6l 

politic  man,  but  a  man  who'll  larn  dese  people  how  to 
bring  up  dere  chillen,  to  keep  our  gals  straight,  ^n'  our 
boys  from  runnin'  in  de  saloons  an'  gamblin'  dens." 

"  Don't  your  preachers  do  that  ?  "  asked  Robert. 

"Well,  some  ob  dem  does,  an'  some  ob  dem  doesn't. 
An'  wen  dey  preaches,  I  want  dem  to  practice  wat  dey 
preach.  Some  ob  dem  says  dey's  called,  but  T  jis' 
thinks  laziness  called  some  ob  dem.  An'  I  thinks  since 
freedom  come  deres  some  mighty  pore  sticks  set  up  for 
preachers.  Now  dere's  John  Anderson,  Tom's  brudder; 
you  'member  Tom." 

"  Yes ;  as  brave  a  fellow  and  as  honest  as  ever  stepped 
in  shoe  leather." 

"Well,  his  brudder  war  mighty  diff'rent.  He  war 
down  in  de  lower  kentry  wen  de  war  war  ober.  He 
war  mighty  smart,  an'  had  a  good  head-piece,  an'  a  orful 
glib  tongue.  He  set  up  store  an'  sole  whisky,  an'  made 
a  lot  ob  money.  Den  he  wanted  ter  go  to  de  legislatur. 
Now  what  should  he  do  but  make  out  he'd  got  'ligion, 
an'  war  called  to  preach.  He  had  no  more  'ligion  dan 
my  ole  dorg.  But  he  had  money  an'  built  a  meetin' 
house,  whar  he  could  hole  meeting,  an'  hab  funerals ;  an' 
you  know  cullud  folks  is  mighty  great  on  funerals.  Well 
dat  jis'  tuck  wid  de  people,  an'  he  got  'lected  to  de  leg- 
islatur. Den  he  got  a  fine  house,  an'  his  ole  wife  warn't 
good  'nuff  for  him.  Den  dere  war  a  young  school-teacher, 
an'  he  begun  cuttin'  his  eyes  at  her.  But  she  war  as  deep 
in  de  mud  as  he  war  in  de  mire,  an'  he  jis'  gib  up  his  ole 
wife  and  married  her,  a  fusty  thing.  He  war  a  mean 
ole  hypocrit,  an'  I  wouldn't  sen'  fer  him  to  bury  my  cat. 
Robby,  I'se  down  on  dese  kine  ob  preachers  like  a  thou- 
sand bricks." 


l62  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  Well,  Aunt  Linda,  all  the  preachers  are  not  like  him." 

"  No ;  I  knows  dat ;  not  by  a  jug  full.  We's  got  some 
mighty  good  men  down  yere,  an'  we's  glad  when  dey 
comes,  an'  orful  sorry  when  dey  goes  'way.  De  las 
preacher  we  had  war  a  mighty  good  man.  He  didn't 
like  too  much  hollerin'." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Robert,  "he  thought  it  were  best  for 
only  one  to  speak  at  a  time." 

"  I  specs  so.  His  wife  war  de  nicest  and  sweetest 
lady  dat  eber  I  did  see.  None  ob  yer  airish,  stuck  up 
folks,  like  a  tarrapin  carryin'  eberything  on  its  back. 
She  used  ter  hab  meetins  fer  de  mudders,  an'  larn  us 
how  to  raise  our  chillen,  an'  talk  so  putty  to  de  chillen. 
I  sartinly  did  lub  dat  woman." 

"Where  is  she  now? "asked  Robert. 

"De  Conference  moved  dem  'bout  thirty  miles  from 
yere.  Deys  gwine  to  hab  a  big  meetin'  ober  dere  next 
Sunday.  Don't  you  'member  dem  meetins  we  used  to 
hab  in  de  woods?  We  don't  hab  to  hide  like  we  did 
den.  But  it  don't  seem  as  ef  de  people  had  de  same 
good  'ligion  we  had  den.  'Pears  like  folks  is  took  up 
wid  makin'  money  an'  politics." 

"  Well,  Aunt  Linda,  don't  you  wish  those  good  old 
days  would  come  back  ?  " 

"  No,  chile ;  neber !  neber !  Wat  fer  you  take  me  ? 
I'd  ruther  lib  in  a  corn-crib.  Freedom  needn't  keep  me 
outer  heben ;  an'  ef  I'se  sich  a  fool  as  ter  lose  my  'ligion 
cause  I'se  free,  I  oughtn'  ter  git  dere." 

"  But,  Aunt  Linda,  if  old  Miss  were  able  to  take  care 
of  you,  wouldn't  you  just  as  leave  be  back  again  ?" 

There  was  a  faint  quiver  of  indignation  in  Aunt 
Linda's  voice,  as  she  replied  : — 


,  OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 63 

"  Don't  yer  want  yer  freedom  ?  Well  I  wants  ter  pat 
my  free  foot.  Halleluyah !  But,  Robby,  I  wants  yer 
ter  go  ter  dat  big  meetin'  de  wuss  kine." 

"How  will  I  get  there?"  asked  Robert. 

"  Oh,  dat's  all  right.  My  ole  man's  got  two  ob  de 
nicest  mules  you  eber  set  yer  eyes  on.  It'll  jis'  do  yer 
good  ter  look  at  dem.  I  'spect  you'll  see  some  ob  yer 
ole  frens  dere.  Dere's  a  nice  settlemen'  of  cullud  folks 
ober  dere,  an'  I  wants  yer  to  come  an'  bring  dat  young 
lady.  I  wants  dem  folks  to  see  wat  nice  folks  I  kin 
bring  to  de  meetin'.  I  hope's  yer  didn't  lose  all  your 
'ligion  in  de  army." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  replied  Robert. 

"  Oh,  chile,  yer  mus'  be  shore  'bout  dat.  I  don't  want 
yer  to  ride  hope's  hoss  down  to  torment.  Now  be 
shore  an'  come  to-morrer  an'  bring  dat  young  lady,  an' 
take  supper  wid  me.     I'se  all  on  nettles  to  see  dat  chile." 


164  IOLA    LEROY, 

CHAPTER   XIX. 

STRIKING   CONTRASTS. 

The  next  day,  Robert,  accompanied  by  Iola,  went  to 
the  settlement  to  take  supper  with  Aunt  Linda,  and  a 
very  luscious  affair  it  was.  Her  fingers  had  not  lost 
their  skill  since  she  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  freedom. 
Her  biscuits  were  just  as  light  and  flaky  as  ever.  Her 
jelly  was  as  bright  as  amber,  and  her  preserves  were  per- 
fectly delicious.  After  she  had  set  the  table  she  stood 
looking  in  silent  admiration,  chuckling  to  herself:  "Ole 
Mistus  can't  set  sich  a  table  as  dat.  She  ought'er  be 
yere  to  see  it.  Specs  'twould  make  her  mouf  water. 
Well,  I  mus'  let  bygones  be  bygones.  But  dis  yere  free- 
dom's mighty  good." 

Aunt  Linda  had  invited  Uncle  Daniel,  and,  wishing 
to  give  him  a  pleasant  surprise,  she  had  refrained  from 
telling  him  that  Robert  Johnson  was  the  one  she  wished 
him  to  meet. 

"Do  you  know  dis  gemmen?"  said  Aunt  Linda  to 
Uncle  Daniel,  when  the  latter  arrived. 

"  Well,  I  can't  say's  I  do.  My  eyes  is  gittin  dim,  an 
I  disremembers  him." 

"  Now  jis'  you  look  right  good  at  him.  Don't  yer 
'member  him?" 

Uncle  Daniel  looked  puzzled  and,  slowly  scanning 
Robert's  features,  said  :  "  He  do  look  like  somebody  I 
used  ter  know,  but  I  can't  make  him  out  ter  save  my 
life.  I  don't  know  whar  to  place  him.  Who  is  de  gem- 
men,  ennyhow  ?  " 


'  OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 65 

"  Why,  Uncle  Dan'el,"  replied  Aurt  Linda,  "  dis  is 
Robby  ;  Miss  Nancy's  bad,  mischeebous  Robby,  dat  war 
allers  playin'  tricks  on  me." 

"Well,  shore's  I'se  born,  ef  dis  ain't  our  ole  Bobby!" 
exclaimed  Uncle  Daniel,  delightedly.  "  Why,  chile, 
whar  did  yer  come  from  ?  Thought  you  war  dead  an' 
buried  long  'go." 

"  Why,  Uncle  Daniel,  did  you  send  anybody  to  kill 
me?"  asked  Robert,  laughingly. 

"Oh,  no'n  'deed,  chile !  but  I  yeard  dat  you  war  killed 
in  de  battle,  an'  I  never  'spected  ter  see  you  agin." 

"Well,  here  I  am,"  replied  Robert,  "large  as  life,  and 
just  as  natural.  And  this  young  lady,  Uncle  Daniil,  I 
believe  is  my  niece."  As  he  spoke  he  turned  to  Iola. 
"  Do  you  remember  my  mother?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Uncle  Daniel,  looking  intently  at  Iola 
as  she  stepped  forward  and  cordially  gave  him  her  hand. 

"Well,  I  firmly  believe,"  continued  Robert,  "that  this 
is  the  daughter  of  the  little  girl  whom  Miss  Nancy  sold 
away  with  my  mother." 

"Well,  I'se  rale  glad  ter  see  her.  She  puts  me  mighty 
much  in  mine  ob  dem  days  wen  we  war  all  young  to- 
gedder ;  wen  Miss  Nancy  sed,  '  Harriet  war  too  high  fer 
her.'  It  jis'  seems  like  yisterday  wen  I  yeard  Miss 
Nancy  say,  '  No  house  could  flourish  whar  dere  war  two 
mistresses.'     Well,  Mr.  Robert " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Uncle  Daniel,"  interrupted  Robert, 
"don't  say  that !  Call  me  Robby  or  Bob,  just  as  you 
used  to." 

"Well,  Bobby,  I'se  glad  klar  from  de  bottom  of  my 
heart  ter  see  yer." 

"  Even  if  you  wouldn't  go  with  us  when  we  left  ?  " 


1 66  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  Oh,  Bobby,  dem  war  mighty  tryin'  times.  You  boys 
didn't  know  it,  but  Marster  Robert  hab  giben  me  a  bag 
ob  money  ter  take  keer  ob,  an'  I  promised  him  I'd  do  it 
an'  I  had  ter  be  ez  good  ez  my  word." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Daniel,  why  didn't  you  tell  us  boys  all 
about  it  ?     We  could  have  helped  you  take  care  of  it." 

"  Now,  wouldn't  dat  hab  bin  smart  ter  let  on  ter  you 
chaps,  an'  hab  you  huntin'  fer  it  from  Dan  ter  Barsheba  ? 
I  specs  some  ob  you  would  bin  a  rootin'  fer  it  yit ! " 

"  Well,  Uncle  Daniel,  we  were  young  then ;  I  can't 
tell  what  we  would  have  done  if  we  had  found  it.  But 
we  are  older  now." 

"  Yes,  yer  older,  but  1  wouldn't  put  it  pas'  yer  eben 
now,  ef  yer  foun'  out  whar  it  war." 

"Yes,"  said  Iola,  laughing,  "they  say  'caution  is  the 
parent  of  safety.' " 

"  Money's  a  mighty  tempting  thing,"  said  Robert, 
smiling. 

"But,  Robby,  dere's  nothin'  like  a  klar  conscience;  a 
klar  conscience,  Robby !  " 

Just  then  Aunt  Linda,  who  had  been  completing  the 
preparations  for  her  supper,  entered  the  room  with  her 
husband,  and  said,  "  Salters,  let  me  interdoos  you  ter 
my  fren',  Mr.  Robert  Johnson,  an'  his  niece,  Miss  Le- 
roy." 

"Why,  is  it  possible,"  exclaimed  Robert,  rising,  and 
shaking  hands,  "that  you  are  Aunt  Linda's  husband  ?" 

"  Dat's  what  de  parson  sed,"  replied  Salters. 

"  I  thought,"  pursued  Robert,  "  that  your  name  was 
John  Andrews.  It  was  such  when  you  were  in  my  com- 
pany." 

"All  de  use  I'se  got  fer  dat  name  is  ter  git  my  money 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  1 67 

wid  it ;  an'  wen  dat's  done,  all's  done.  Got  'miff  ob  my 
ole  Marster  in  slave  times,  widout  wearin'  his  name  in 
freedom.  Wen  I  got  done  wid  him,  I  got  done  wid  his 
name.  Wen  I  'listed,  I  war  John  Andrews ;  and  wen  I 
gits  my  pension,  Fse  John  Andrews;  but  now  Salters  is 
my  name,  an'  I  likes  it  better." 

"  But  how  came  you  to  be  Aunt  Linda's  husband  ? 
Did  you  get  married  since  the  war?" 

"  Lindy  an'  me  war  married  long  'fore  de  war.  But 
my  ole  Marster  sole  me  away  from  her  an'  our  little  gal, 
an'  den  sole  her  chile  ter  somebody  else.  Arter  free- 
dom, I  hunted  up  our  little  gal,  an'  foun'  her.  She  war 
a  big  woman  den.  Den  I  com'd  right  back  ter  dis  place 
an'  foun'  Lindy.  She  hedn't  married  agin,  nuther  hed 
I ;  so  we  jis'  let  de  parson  marry  us  out  er  de  book ;  an' 
we  war  mighty  glad  ter  git  togedder  agin,  an'  feel 
hitched  togedder  fer  life." 

"  Well,  Uncle  Daniel,"  said  Robert,  turning  the  con- 
versation toward  him,  "  you  and  Uncle  Ben  wouldn't 
go  with  us,  but  you  came  out  all  right  at  last." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Aunt  Linda,  "Ben  got  inter  a 
stream  of  luck.  Arter  freedom  com'd,  de  people  had  a 
heap  of  fath  in  Ben  ;  an'  wen  dey  wanted  some  one  to 
go  ter  Congress  dey  jist  voted  for  Ben  ter  go.  An'  he 
went,  too.  An'  wen  Salters  went  to  Washin'ton  to  git 
his  pension,  who  should  he  see  dere  wid  dem  big  men 
but  our  Ben,  lookin'  jist  as  big  as  any  ob  dem." 

"An'  it  did  my  ole  eyes  good  jist  ter  see  it,"  broke  in 
Salters ;  "  if  I  couldn't  go  dere  myself,  I  war  mighty 
glad  to  see  some  one  ob  my  people  dat  could.  I  felt 
like  de  boy  who,  wen  somebody  said  he  war  gwine  to 
slap  off  his  face,  said,  '  Yer  kin  slap  off  my  face,  but  I'se 


1 68  IOLA   LEROY, 

got  a  big  brudder,  an' you  can't  slap  off  his  face.'  I  went 
to  see  him  'fore  I  lef,  and  be  war  jist  de  same  as  he  war 
wen  we  war  boys  togedder.  He  hadn't  got  de  big  head 
a  bit." 

"  I  reckon  Mirandy  war  mighty  sorry  she  didn't  stay 
wid  him.     I  know  I  should  be,"  said  Aunt  Linda. 

"Uncle  Daniel,"  asked  Robert,  "are  you  still  preach- 
ing?" 

"  Yes,  chile,  I'se  still  firing  off  de  Gospel  gun." 

"  I  hear  some  of  the  Northern  folks  are  down  here 
teaching  theology,  that  is,  teaching  young  men  how  to 
preach.     Why  don't  you  study  theology  ?  " 

"  Look  a  yere,  boy,  I'se  been  a  preachin'  dese  thirty 
years,  an'  you  come  yere  a  tellin'  me  'bout  studying  yore 
ologies.  I  larn'd  my  'ology  at  de  foot  ob  de  cross.  You 
bin  dar  ? " 

"Dear  Uncle  Daniel,"  said  Iola,  "the  moral  aspect  of 
the  nation  would  be  changed  if  it  would  learn  at  the 
same  cross  to  subordinate  the  spirit  of  caste  to  the  spirit 
of  Christ." 

"  Does  yer  'member  Miss  Nancy's  Harriet,"  asked 
Aunt  Linda,  "  dat  she  sole  away  kase  she  wouldn't  let 
her  whip  her?  Well,  we  think  dis  is  Harriet's  gran'- 
chile.  She  war  sole  away  from  her  mar,  an'  now  she's 
a  lookin'  fer  her." 

"Well,  I  hopes  she  may  fine  her,"  replied  Salters. 
"  I  war  sole  'way  from  my  mammy  wen  I  war  eighteen 
mont's  ole,  an'  I  wouldn't  know  her  now  from  a  bunch 
ob  turnips." 

"  I,"  said  Iola,  "  am  on  my  way  South  seeking  for  my 
mother,  and  I  shall  not  give  up  until  I  find  her." 

"  Come,"  said    Aunt   Linda,    "  we    mustn't  stan'  yer 


'  OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  169 

talkin',  or  de  grub'll  git  cole.  Come,  frens,  sit  down, 
an'  eat  some  ob  my  pore  supper." 

Aunt  Linda  sat  at  the  table  in  such  a  flutter  of  excite- 
ment that  she  could  hardly  eat,  but  she  gazed  with  in- 
tense satisfaction  on  her  guests.  Robert  sat  on  her 
right  hand,  contrasting  Aunt  Linda's  pleasant  situation 
with  the  old  days  in  Mrs.  Johnson's  kitchen,  where  he 
had  played  his  pranks  upon  her,  and  told  her  the  news 
of  the  war. 

Over  Iola  there  stole  a  spirit  of  restfulness.  There 
was  something  so  motherly  in  Aunt  Linda's  manner 
that  it  seemed  to  recall  the  bright,  sunshiny  days  when 
she  used  to  nestle  in  Mam  Liza's  arms,  in  her  own 
happy  home.  The  conversation  was  full  of  army  rem- 
iniscences and  recollections  of  the  days  of  slavery. 
Uncle  Daniel  was  much  interested,  and,  as  they  rose 
from  the  table,  exclaimed  : — 

"  Robby,  seein'  yer  an'  hearin'  yer  talk,  almos'  puts 
new  springs  inter  me.  I  feel  'mos'  like  I  war  gittin' 
younger." 

After  the  supper,  Salters  and  his  guests  returned  to 
the  front  room,  which  Aunt  Linda  regarded  with  so 
much  pride,  and  on  which  she  bestowed  so  much  care. 

"Well,  Captin,"  said  Salters,  "I  neber  'spected  ter  see 
you  agin.  Do  you  know  de  las'  time  I  seed  yer?  Well, 
you  war  on  a  stretcher,  an'  four  ob  us  war  carryin'  you 
ter  de  hospital.     War  you  much  hurt  ? 

"  No,"  replied  Robert,  "  it  was  only  a  flesh  wound  ; 
and  this  young  lady  nursed  me  so  carefully  that  I  soon 
got  over  it." 

"  Is  dat  de  way  you  foun'  her  ?  " 

"Yes,  Andrews," 


I70  IOLA    LEROY, 

"  Salters,  ef  you  please,"  interrupted  Salters.  I'se 
only  Andrews  wen  I  gits  my  money." 

"Well,  Salters,"  continued  Robert,  "  our  freedom  was 
a  costly  thing.  Did  you  know  that  Captain  Sybil  was 
killed  in  one  of  the  last  battles  of  the  war  ?  These  young 
chaps,  who  are  taking  it  so  easy,  don't  know  the  hard- 
ships through  which  we  older  ones  passed.  But  all  the 
battles  are  not  fought,  nor  all  the  victories  won.  The 
colored  man  has  escaped  from  one  slavery,  and  I  don't 
want  him  to  fall  into  another.  I  want  the  young  folks 
to  keep  their  brains  clear,  and  their  right  arms  strong,  to 
fight  the  battles  of  life  manfully,  and  take  their  places 
alongside  of  every  other  people  in  this  country.  And 
I  cannot  see  what  is  to  hinder  them  if  they  get  a 
chance." 

"  I  don't  nuther,"  said  Salters.  "  I  don't  see  dat  dey 
drinks  any  more  dan  anybody  else,  nor  dat  dere  is  any 
meanness  or  debilment  dat  a  black  man  kin  do  dat  a 
white  man  can't  keep  step  wid  him." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Robert,  "but  while  a  white  man  is 
stealing  a  thousand  dollars,  a  black  man  is  getting  into 
trouble  taking  a  few  chickens." 

"  All  that  may  be  true,"  said  Iola,  "  but  there  are 
some  things  a  white  man  can  do  that  we  cannot  afford 
to  do." 

"  I  beliebs  eberybody,  Norf  and  Souf,  is  lookin'  at  us ; 
an'  some  ob  dem  ain't  got  no  good  blood  fer  us,  nohow 
you  fix  it,"  said  Salters. 

"  I  specs  cullud  folks  mus'  hab  done  somethin',"  inter- 
posed Aunt  Linda. 

"  O,  nonsense,"  said  Robert.  "  I  don't  think  they  are 
any  worse  than  the  white  people.     I  don't  believe,  if  we 


'  OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  171 

had  the  power,  we  would  do  any  more  lynching,  burn- 
ing, and  murdering  than  they  do." 

"  Dat's  so,"  said  Aunt  Linda,  "  it's  ralely  orful  how 
our  folks  hab  been  murdered  sence  de  war.  But  I  don't 
think  dese  young  folks  is  goin'  ter  take  things  as  we's 
allers  done." 

"  We  war  cowed  down  from  the  beginnin',"  said  Uncle 
Daniel,  "  but  dese  young  folks  ain't  comin'  up  dat  way." 

"  No,"  said  Salters,  "  fer  one  night  arter  some  ob  our 
pore  people  had  been  killed,  an'  some  ob  our  women  had 
run'd  away  'bout  seventeen  miles,  my  gran'son,  looking 
me  squar  in  de  face,  said  :  '  Ain't  you  got  five  fingers  ? 
Can't  you  pull  a  trigger  as  well  as  a  white  man  ?  '  I  tell 
yer,  Cap,  dat  jis'  got  to  me,  an'  I  made  up  my  mine  dat 
my  boy  should  neber  call  me  a  coward." 

"It  is  not  to  be  expected,"  said  Robert,  "that  these 
young  people  are  going  to  put  up  with  things  as  we  did, 
when  we  weren't  permitted  to  hold  a  meeting  by  our- 
selves, or  to  own  a  club  or  learn  to  read." 

"  I  tried,"  said  Salters,  "  to  git  a  little  out'er  de  book 
wen  I  war  in  de  army.  On  Sundays  I  sometimes  takes 
a  book  an'  tries  to  make  out  de  words,  but  my  eyes  is 
gittin'  dim  an'  de  letters  all  run  togedder,  an'  I  gits 
sleepy,  an'  ef  yer  wants  to  put  me  to  sleep  jis'  put  a  book 
in  my  han'.  But  wen  it  comes  to  gittin'  out  a  stan'  ob 
cotton,  an'  plantin'  corn,  I'se  dere  all  de  time.  But  dat 
gran'son  ob  mine  is  smart  as  a  steel  trap.  I  specs  he'll 
be  a  preacher." 

Salters  looked  admiringly  at  his  grandson,  who  sat 
grinning  in  the  corner,  munching  a  pear  he  had  brought 
from  the  table. 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Linda,  "  his  fadder  war  killed  by 


172  IOLA    LEROV, 

the  Secesh,  one  night,  comin'  home  from  a  politic  meet- 
in',  an'  his  pore  mudder  died  a  few  weeks  arter,  an'  we 
mean  to  make  a  man  ob  him." 

"  He's  got  to  larn  to  work  fust,"  said  Salters,  "  an'  den 
ef  he's  right  smart  I'se  gwine  ter  sen'  him  ter  college. 
An'  ef  he  can't  get  a  libin'  one  way,  he  kin  de  oder." 

"  Yes,"  said  lola,  "  I  hope  he  will  turn  out  an  excel- 
lent young  man,  for  the  greatest  need  of  the  race  is 
noble,  earnest  men,  and  true  women." 

"Job,"  said  Salters,  turning  to  his  grandson,  "tell 
Jake  ter  hitch  up  de  mules,  an'  you  stay  dere  an'  help 
him.  We's  all  gwine  ter  de  big  meetin'.  Yore  grand- 
ma hab  set  her  heart  on  goin',  an'  it'll  be  de  same  as  a 
spell  ob  sickness  ef  she  don't  hab  a  chance  to  show  her 
bes'  bib  an'  tucker.  That  ole  gal's  as  proud  as  a  pea- 
cock." 

"  Now,  John  Salters,"  exclaimed  Aunt  Linda,  "  ain't 
you  'shamed  ob  yourself  ?  Allers  tryin'  to  poke  fun  at 
yer  pore  wife.  Never  mine ;  wait  till  I'se  gone,  an' 
you'll  miss  me." 

"  Ef  I  war  single,"  said  Salters,  "  I  could  git  a  putty 
young  gal,  but  it  wouldn't  be  so  easy  wid  you." 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  lola,  smiling. 

"  'Cause  young  men  don't  want  ole  hens,  an'  ole  men 
want  young  pullets,"  was  Salter's  reply. 

"  Robby,  honey,"  said  Aunt  Linda,  "  when  you  gits  a 
wife,  don't  treat  her  like  dat  man  treats  me." 

"  Oh,  his  head's  level,"  answered  Robert ;  "  at  least  it 
was  in  the  army." 

"  Dat's  jis'  de  way ;  you  see  dat,  Miss  lola  ?  One 
man  takin'  up  for  de  oder.  But  I'll  be  eben  wid  you 
bof.     I  must  go  now  an'  git  ready." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 73 

Iola  laughed.  The  homely  enjoyment  of  that  even- 
ing was  very  welcome  to  her  after  the  trying  scenes 
through  which  she  had  passed.  Further  conversation 
was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  the  wagon,  drawn 
by  two  fine  mules.  John  Salters  stopped  joking  his 
wife  to  admire  his  mules. 

"  Jis'  look  at  dem,"  he  said.  "  Ain't  dey  beauties  ?  I 
bought  'em  out  ob  my  bounty-money.  Arter  de  war 
war  ober  I  had  a  little  money,  an'  I  war  gwine  ter  rent 
a  plantation  on  sheers  an'  git  out  a  good  stan'  ob  cotton. 
Cotton  war  bringin'  orful  high  prices  den,  but  Lindy 
said  to  me,  '  Now,  John,  you'se  got  a  lot  ob  money,  an' 
you'd  better  salt  it  down.  I'd  ruther  lib  on  a  little  piece 
ob  Ian'  ob  my  own  dan  a  big  piece  ob  somebody  else's. 
Well,  I  says  to  Lindy,  I  dun  know  nuthin'  'bout  buyin' 
Ian',  an'  I'se  'fraid  arter  I'se  done  buyed  it  an'  put  all 
de  marrer  ob  dese  bones  in  it,  dat  somebody's  far-off 
cousin  will  come  an'  say  de  title  ain't  good,  an'  I'll  lose 
it  all." 

"You're  right  thar,  John," said  Uncle  Daniel.  "  White 
man's  so  unsartain,  black  man's  nebber  safe." 

"  But  somehow,"  continued  Salters,  "  Lindy  warn't 
satisfied  wid  rentin',  so  I  buyed  a  piece  ob  Ian',  an'  I'se 
glad  now  I'se  got  it.  Lindy's  got  a  lot  ob  gumption  ; 
knows  most  as  much  as  a  man.  She  ain't  got  dat  long 
head  fer  nuffin.  She's  got  lots  ob  sense,  but  I  don't  like 
to  tell  her  so." 

"  Why  not  ? "  asked  Iola.  "  Do  you  think  it  would 
make  her  feel  too  happy  ?  " 

"Well,  it  don't  do  ter  tell  you  women  how  much  we 
thinks  ob  you.  It  sets  you  up  too  much.  Ole  Gun- 
dover's  overseer  war  my  marster,  an'  he  used  ter  lib  in  dis 


174  !0LA   LEROY, 

bery  house.  I'se  fixed  it  up  sence  I'se  got  it.  Now  I'se 
better  off  dan  he  is,  'cause  he  tuck  to  drink,  an'  all  his 
frens  is  gone,  an'  he's  in  de  pore-house." 

Just  then  Linda  came  to  the  door  with  her  baskets. 

"  Now,  Lindy,  ain't  you  ready  yet  ?     Do  hurry  up." 

"Yes,  I'se  ready,  but  things  wouldn't  go  right  ef  you 
didn't  hurry  me." 

"  Well,  put  your  chicken  fixins  an'  cake  right  in  yere. 
Captin,  you'll  ride  wid  me,  an'  de  young  lady  an'  my 
ole  woman'll  take  de  back  seat.  Uncle  Dan'el,  dere's 
room  for  you  ef  you'll  go." 

"  No,  I  thank  you.  It's  time  fer  ole  folks  to  go  to 
bed.  Good  night !  An',  Bobby,  I  hopes  to  see  you 
agin'." 


'  OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  175 

CHAPTER  XX. 

A    REVELATION. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening  for  the  journey.  The  air  was 
soft  and  balmy.  The  fields  and  hedges  were  redolent 
with  flowers.  Not  a  single  cloud  obscured  the  bright- 
ness of  the  moon  or  the  splendor  of  the  stars.  The 
ancient  trees  were  festooned  with  moss,  which  hung  like 
graceful  draperies.  Ever  and  anon  a  startled  hare  glided 
over  the  path,  and  whip-poor-wills  and  crickets  broke  the 
restful  silence  of  the  night.  Robert  rode  quietly  along, 
quaffing  the  beauty  of  the  scene  and  thinking  of  his 
boyish  days,  when  he  gathered  nuts  and  wild  plums  in 
those  woods;  he  also  indulged  pleasant  reminiscences 
of  later  years,  when,  with  Uncle  Daniel  and  Tom 
Anderson,  he  attended  the  secret  prayer-meetings. 
Iola  rode  along,  conversing  with  Aunt  Linda,  amused 
and  interested  at  the  quaintness  of  her  speech  and  the 
shrewdness  of  her  intellect.  To  her  the  ride  was  de- 
lightful. 

"Does  yer  know  dis  place,  Robby,"  asked  Aunt 
Linda,  as  they  passed  an  old  resort. 

"  I  should  think  I  did,"  replied  Robert.  "  It  is  the 
place  where  we  held  our  last  prayer-meeting." 

"An'  dere's  dat  ole  broken  pot  we  used,  ter  tell  'bout 
de  war.  But  warn't  ole  Miss  hoppin'  wen  she  foun'  out 
you  war  goin'  to  de  war !  I  thought  she'd  go  almos' 
wile.  Now,  own  up,  Robby,  didn't  you  feel  kine  ob 
mean  to  go  off  widout  eben  biddin'  her  good  bye  ?     An' 


I76  IOLA   LEROY, 

I  ralely  think  ole  Miss  war  fon'  ob  yer.  Now,  own  up, 
honey,  didn't  yer  feel  a  little  down  in  de  mouf  wen  yer 
lef '  her." 

"Not  much,"  responded  Robert.  "I  only  thought 
she  was  getting  paid  back  for  selling  my  mother." 

"  Dat's  so,  Robby !  yore  mudder  war  a  likely  gal,  wid 
long  black  hair,  an'  kine  ob  ginger-bread  color.  An' 
you  neber  hearn  tell  ob  her  sence  dey  sole  her  to 
Georgia  ?" 

"Never,"  replied  Robert,  "but  I  would  give  every- 
thing I  have  on  earth  to  see  her  once  more.  I  do  hope, 
if  she  is  living,  that  I  may  meet  her  before  I  die." 

"You's  right,  boy,  cause  she  lub'd  you  as  she  lub'd 
her  own  life.  Many  a  time  hes  she  set  in  my  ole  cabin 
an'  cried  'bout  yer  wen  you  war  fas'  asleep.  It's  all  ober 
now,  but  I'se  gwine  to  hole  up  fer  dem  Yankees  dat  gib 
me  my  freedom,  an'  sent  dem  nice  ladies  from  de  Norf 
to  gib  us  some  sense.  Some  ob  dese  folks  calls  em 
nigger  teachers,  an'  won't  hab  nuffin  to  do  wid  'em,  but 
I  jis'  thinks  dey's  splendid.  But  dere's  some  triflin' 
niggers  down  yere  who'll  sell  der  votes  for  almost  nuffin. 
Does  you  'member  Jake  Williams  an'  Gundover's  Tom  ? 
Well  dem  two  niggers  is  de  las'  ob  pea-time.  Dey's 
mighty  small  pertaters  an'  few  in  a  hill." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Linda,"  said  Robert,  "  don't  call  them 
niggers.     The)/  are  our  own  people." 

"Dey  ain't  my  kine  ob  people.  I  jis'  calls  em  nig- 
gers, an'  niggers  I  means  ;  an'  de  bigges'  kine  ob  niggers. 
An'  if  my  John  war  sich  a  nigger  I'd  whip  him  an'  leave 
him." 

"An'  what  would  I  be  a  doin',"  queried  John,  sud- 
denly rousing  up  at  the  mention  of  his  name. 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  I  77 

"  Standing  still  and  taking  it,  I  suppose,"  said  Iola, 
who  had  been  quietly  listening  to  and  enjoying  the  con- 
versation. 

"Yes,  an'  I'd  ketch  myself  stan'in'  still  an'  takin'  it," 
was  John's  plucky  response. 

"Well,  you  oughter,  ef  you's  mean  enough  to  wote  dat 
ticket  ter  put  me  back  inter  slavery,"  was  Aunt  Linda's 
parting  shot.  "  Robby,"  she  continued,  "you  'mem- 
ber Miss  Nancy's  Jinnie?" 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  said  Robert. 

"  She  married  Mr.  Gundover's  Dick.  Well,  dere 
warn't  much  git  up  an'  go  'bout  him.  So,  wen  'lection 
time  com'd,  de  man  he  war  workin'  fer  tole  him  ef  he 
woted  de  radical  ticket  he'd  turn  him  off.  Well,  Jinnie 
war  so  'fraid  he'd  do  it,  dat  she  jis'  follered  him  fer 
days." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  exclaimed  Robert.  "  How  did  he 
come  out  ?  " 

"He  certainly  was  between  two  fires,"  interposed 
Iola. 

"Oh,  Jinnie  gained  de  day.  She  jis'  got  her  back 
up,  and  said,  '  Now  ef  yer  wote  dat  ticket  ter  put  me 
back  inter  slavery,  you  take  yore  rags  an'  go.'  An'  Dick 
jis'  woted  de  radical  ticket.  Jake  Williams  went  on  de 
Secesh  side,  woted  whar  he  thought  he'd  git  his  taters, 
but  he  got  fooled  es  slick  es  greese." 

"  How  was  that  ?  "  asked  Robert. 

"  Some  ob  dem  folks,  dat  I  'spects  buyed  his  wote, 
sent  him  some  flour  an'  sugar.  So  one  night  his  wife 
hab  company  ter  tea.  Dey  made  a  big  spread,  an' 
put  a  lot  ob  sugar  on  de  table  fer  supper,  an'  Tom  jis' 
went   fer  dat   sugar.     He   put  a  lot  in  his  tea.     But 


I  78  IOLA   LEROY, 

somehow  it  didn't  tase  right,  an'  wen  dey  come  ter  fine 
out  what  war  de  matter,  dey  hab  sent  him  a  barrel  ob 
san'  wid  some  sugar  on  top,  an'  wen  de  sugar  war  all 
gone  de  san'  war  dare.  Wen  I  yeard  it,  I  jis'  split  my 
sides  a  larfin.  It  war  too  good  to  keep  ;  an'  wen  it  got 
roun',  Jake  war  as  mad  as  a  March  hare.  But  it  sarved 
him  right." 

"Well,  Aunt  Linda,  you  musn't  be  too  hard  on  Uncle 
Jake;  you  know  he's  getting  old." 

"  Well  he  ain't  too  ole  ter  do  right.  He  ain't  no  older 
dan  Uncle  Dan'el.  An'  I  yered  dey  offered  him  $500 
ef  he'd  go  on  dere  side.  An'  Uncle  Dan'el  wouldn't 
tech  it.  An'  dere's  Uncle  Job's  wife  ;  why  didn't  she  go 
dat  way?     She  war  down  on  Job's  meanness." 

"  What  did  she  do  ?  " 

"  Wen  'lection  time  'rived,  he  com'd  home  bring- 
ing some  flour  an'  meat ;  an'  he  says  ter  Aunt  Polly, 
'  Ole  woman,  I  got  dis  fer  de  wote.'  She  jis'  picked 
up  dat  meat  an'  flour  an'  sent  it  sailin'  outer  doors, 
an'  den  com'd  back  an'  gib  him  a  good  tongue-lashin'. 
'Oder  people,'  she  said,  'a  wotin'  ter  lib  good,  an' 
you  a  sellin'  yore  wote !  Ain't  you  got  'nuff  ob  ole 
Marster,  an'  ole  Marster  bin  cuttin'  you  up  ?  It  shan't 
stay  yere.'  An'  so  she  wouldn't  let  de  things  stay  in 
de  house." 

"What  did  Uncle  Job  do?" 

"  He  jis'  stood  dere  an'  cried." 

"  And  didn't  you  feel  sorry  for  him  ?"  asked  Iola. 

"  Not  a  bit !    he  hedn't  no  business  ter  be  so  shabby." 

"  But,  Aunt  Linda,"  pursued  Iola,  "  if  it  were  shabby 
for  an  ignorant  colored  man  to  sell  his  vote,  wasn't  it 
shabbier  for  an  intelligent  white  man  to  buy  it  ?" 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 79 

< 

"  You  see,"  added  Robert,  "  all  the  shabbiness  is  not 
on  our  side." 

"  I  knows  dat,"  said  Aunt  Linda,  "  but  I  can't  help  it. 
I  wants  my  people  to  wote  right,  an'  to  think  somethin' 
ob  demselves." 

"  Well,  Aunt  Linda,  they  say  in  every  flock  of  sheep 
there  will  be  one  that's  scabby,"  observed  Iola. 

"  Dats  so !    But  I  ain't  got  no  use  fer  scabby  sheep." 

"Lindy,"  cried  John,  "we's  most  dar!  Don't  you 
yere  dat  singin'  ?     Dey's  begun  a'ready." 

"  Neber  mine,"  said  Aunt  Linda,  "sometimes  de  las' 
ob  de  wine  is  de  bes'." 

Thus  discoursing  they  had  beguiled  the  long  hours 
of  the  night  and  made  their  long  journey  appear  short. 

Very  soon  they  reached  the  church,  a  neat,  commo- 
dious, frame  building,  with  a  blue  ceiling,  white  walls 
within  and  without,  and  large  windows  with  mahogany- 
colored  facings.  It  was  a  sight  full  of  pathetic  interest 
to  see  that  group  which  gathered  from  miles  around. 
They  had  come  to  break  bread  with  each  other,  relate 
their  experiences,  and  tell  of  their  hopes  of  heaven.  In 
that  meeting  were  remnants  of  broken  families — mothers 
who  had  been  separated  from  their  children  before  the 
war,  husbands  who  had  not  met  their  wives  for  years. 
After  the  bread  had  been  distributed  and  the  hand- 
shaking was  nearly  over,  Robert  raised  the  hymn  which 
Iola  had  sung  for  him  when  he  was  recovering  from  his 
wounds,  and  Iola,  with  her  clear,  sweet  tones,  caught  up 
the  words  and  joined  him  in  the  strain.  When  the  hymn 
was  finished  a  dear  old  mother  rose  from  her  seat.  Her 
voice  was  quite  strong.  With  still  a  lingering  light  and 
fire  in  her  eye,  she  said : — 


I  So  IOLA    LEROY, 

"  I  rise,  bredren  an'  sisters,  to  say  I'm  on  my  solemn 
march  to  glory." 

"Amen!"  "Glory!"  came  from  a  number  of  voices. 

"  I'se  had  my  trials  an'  temptations,  my  ups  an'  downs ; 
but  I  feels  I'll  soon  be  in  one  ob  de  many  mansions.  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  dat  hope  I  'spects  I  would  have  broken 
down  long  ago.  I'se  bin  through  de  deep  waters,  but 
dey  didn't  overflow  me;  I'se  bin  in  de  fire,  but  de  smell 
ob  it  isn't  on  my  garments.  Bredren  an'  sisters,  it  Avar 
a  drefful  time  when  I  war  tored  away  from  my  pore 
little  chillen." 

"  Dat's  so ! "  exclaimed  a  chorus  of  voices.  Some  of 
her  hearers  moaned,  others  rocked  to  and  fro,  as  thoughts 
of  similar  scenes  in  their  own  lives  arose  before  them. 

"When  my  little  girl,"  continued  the  speaker,  "took 
hole  ob  my  dress  an'  begged  me  ter  let  her  go  wid  me, 
an'  I  couldn't  do  it,  it  mos'  broke  my  heart.  I  had  a 
little  boy,  an' wen  my  mistus  sole  me  she  kep'  him.  She 
carried  on  a  boardin'  house.  Many's  the  time  I  hab  stole 
out  at  night  an'  seen  dat  chile  an'  sleep'd  wid  him  in  my 
arms  tell  mos'  day.  Bimeby  de  people  I  libed  wid  got 
hard  up  fer  money,  an'  dey  sole  me  one  way  an'  my  pore 
little  gal  de  oder;  an'  I  neber  laid  my  eyes  on  my  pore 
chillen  sence  den.  But,  honeys,  let  de  wind  blow  high 
or  low,  I  'spects  to  outwedder  de  storm  an'  anchor  by'm 
bye  in  bright  glory.  But  I'se  bin  a  prayin'  fer  one  thing, 
an'  I  beliebs  I'll  git  it ;  an'  dat  is  dat  I  may  see  my 
chillen  'fore  I  die.  Pray  fer  me  dat  I  may  hole  out  an' 
hole  on,  an'  neber  make  a  shipwrack  ob  faith,  an'  at  las' 
fine  my  way  from  earth  to  glory." 

Having  finished  her  speech,  she  sat  down  and  wiped 
away  the  tears  that  flowed  all  the  more  copiously  as  she 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  I«I 

remembered  her  lost  children.  When  she  rose  to  speak 
her  voice  and  manner  instantly  arrested  Robert's  atten- 
tion. He  found  his  mind  reverting  to  the  scenes  of  his 
childhood.  As  she  proceeded  his  attention  became 
riveted  on  her.  Unbidden  tears  filled  his  eyes  and  great 
sobs  shook  his  frame.  He  trembled  in  every  limb. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  after  years  of  patient  search 
through  churches,  papers,  and  inquiring  friends,  he 
had  accidentally  stumbled  on  his  mother — the  mother 
who,  long  years  ago,  had  pillowed  his  head  upon  her 
bosom  and  left  her  parting  kiss  upon  his  lips?  How 
should  he  reveal  himself  to  her?  Might  not  sudden  joy 
do  what  years  of  sorrow  had  failed  to  accomplish  ? 
Controlling  his  feelings  as  best  he  could,  he  rose  to  tell 
his  experience.  He  referred  to  the  days  when  they 
used  to  hold  their  meetings  in  the  lonely  woods  and 
gloomy  swamps.  How  they  had  prayed  for  freedom 
and  plotted  to  desert  to  the  Union  army ;  and  con- 
tinuing, he  said  :  "  Since  then,  brethren  and  sisters,  I 
have  had  my  crosses  and  trials,  but  I  try  to  look  at  the 
mercies.  Just  think  what  it  was  then  and  what  it  is 
now !  How  many  of  us,  since  freedom  has  come,  have 
been  looking  up  our  scattered  relatives.  I  have  just 
been  over  to  visit  my  old  mistress,  Nancy  Johnson,  and 
to  see  if  I  could  get  some  clue  to  my  long-lost  mother, 
who  was  sold  from  me  nearly  thirty  years  ago." 

Again  there  was  a  chorus  of  moans. 

On  resuming,  Robert's  voice  was  still  fuller  of  pathos. 

"  When,"  he  said,  "  I  heard  that  dear  old  mother  tell 
her  experience  it  seemed  as  if  some  one  had  risen  from 
the  dead.  She  made  me  think  of  my  own  dear  mother, 
who  used  to  steal  out  at  night  to  see  me,  fold  me  in  her 


l82  TOT. A    T.F.ROY, 

arms,  and  then  steal  back  again  to  her  work.  After  she 
was  sold  away  I  never  saw  her  face  again  by  daylight. 
I  have  been  looking  for  her  ever  since  the  war,  and  I 
think  at  last   I  have  got  on   the  right  track.     If  Mrs. 

Johnson,  who  kept  the  boarding-house  in  C ,  is  the 

one  who  sold  that  dear  old  mother  from  her  son,  then 
she  is  the  one  I  am  looking  for,  and  I  am  the  son  she 
has  been  praying  for." 

The  dear  old  mother  raised  her  eyes.  They  were 
clear  and  tearless.  An  expression  of  wonder,  hope,  and 
love  flitted  over  her  face.  It  seemed  as  if  her  youth 
were  suddenly  renewed  and,  bounding  from  her  seat, 
she  rushed  to  the  speaker  in  a  paroxysm  of  joy.  "  Oh, 
Robby !  Robby !  is  dis  you  ?  Is  dat  my  pore,  dear 
boy  I'se  been  prayin'  'bout  all  dese  years  ?  Oh,  glory ! 
glory!"  And  overflowing  with  joyous  excitement  she 
threw  her  arms  around  him,  looking  the  very  imperso- 
nation of  rapturous  content.  It  was  a  happy  time. 
Mothers  whose  children  had  been  torn  from  them  in 
the  days  of  slavery  knew  how  to  rejoice  in  her  joy. 
The  young  people  caught  the  infection  of  the  general 
happiness  and  rejoiced  with  them  that  rejoiced.  There 
were  songs  of  rejoicing  and  shouts  of  praise.  The  un- 
dertone of  sadness  which  had  so  often  mingled  with 
their  songs  gave  place  to  strains  of  exultation  ;  and  tears 
of  tender  sympathy  flowed  from  eyes  which  had  often 
been  blurred  by  anguish.  The  child  of  many  prayers 
and  tears  was  restored  to  his  mother. 

Iola  stood  by  the  mother's  side,  smiling,  and  weeping 
tears  of  joy.  When  Robert's  mother  observed  Iola,  she 
said  to  Robert,  "  Is  dis  yore  wife  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Robert,  "  but  I  believe  she  is  your 


OR.  SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  183 

1 

grandchild,  the  daughter  of  the  little  girl  who  was  sold 
away  from  you  so  long  ago.  She  is  on  her  way  to  the 
farther  South  in  search  of  her  mother." 

"  Is  she  ?  Dear  chile  !  I  hope  she'll  fine  her  !  She 
puts  me  in  mine  ob  my  pore  little  Marie.  Well,  I'se  got 
one  chile,  an'  I  means  to  keep  on  prayin'  tell  I  fine  my 
daughter.     I'm  so  happy!     I  feel's  like  a  new  woman  !  " 

"  My  dear  mother,"  said  Robert,  "  now  that  I  have 
found  you,  I  mean  to  hold  you  fast  just  as  long  as  you 
live.  Ever  since  the  war  I  have  been  trying  to  find  out 
if  you  were  living,  but  all  efforts  failed.  At  last,  I 
thought  I  would  come  and  hunt  you  myself  and,  now 
that  I  have  found  you,  I  am  going  to  take  you  home  to 
live  with  me,  and  to  be  as  happy  as  the  days  are  long. 
I  am  living  in  the  North,  and  doing  a  good  business 
there.  I  want  you  to  see  joy  according  to  all  the  days 
wherein  you  have  seen  sorrow.  I  do  hope  this  young 
lady  will  find  her  ma  and  that,  when  found,  she  will 
prove  to  be  your  daughter  ! " 

"Yes,  pore,  dear  chile!  I  specs  her  mudder's  heart's 
mighty  hungry  fer  her.     I  does  hope  she's  my  gran'chile." 

Tenderly  and  caressingly  Iola  bent  over  the  happy 
mother,  with  her  heart  filled  with  mournful  memories  of 
her  own  mother. 

Aunt  Linda  was  induced  to  stay  until  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  then  gladly  assisted  Robert's  mother  in  arrang- 
ing for  her  journey  northward.  The  friends  who  had 
given  her  a  shelter  in  their  hospitable  home,  learned  to 
value  her  so  much  that  it  was  with  great  reluctance  they 
resigned  her  to  the  care  of  her  son.  Aunt  Linda  was 
full  of  bustling  activity,  and  her  spirits  overflowed  with 
good  humor. 


184  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  Now,  Harriet,"  she  said,  as  they  rode  along  on  their 
return  journey,  "you  mus'  j is'  thank  me  fer  finin'  yore 
chile,  'cause  I  got  him  to  come  to  dat  big  meetin' 
wid  me." 

"  Oh,  Lindy,"  she  cried,  "  I'se  glad  from  de  bottom  ob 
my  heart  ter  see  you's  all.  I  com'd  out  dere  ter  git  a 
blessin',  an'  I'se  got  a  double  po'tion.  De  frens  I  war 
libin'  wid  war  mighty  good  ter  me.  Dey  lib'd  wid 
me  in  de  lower  kentry,  an'  arter  de  war  war  ober  I 
stopped  wid  'em  and  helped  take  keer  ob  de  chillen; 
an'  when  dey  com'd  up  yere  dey  brought  me  wid  'em. 
I'se  com'd  a  way  I  didn't  know,  but  I'se  mighty  glad 
I'se  com'd." 

"Does  you  know  dis  place?"  asked  Aunt  Linda,  as 
they  approached  the  settlement. 

"No'n  'deed  I  don't.     It's  all  new  ter  me." 

"Well,  dis  is  whar  I  libs.  Ain't  you  mighty  tired?  I 
feels  a  little  stiffish.     Dese  bones  is  gittin'  ole." 

"  Dat's  so !  But  I'se  mighty  glad  I'se  lib'd  to  see 
my  boy  'fore  I  crossed  ober  de  riber.  An'  now  I  feel 
like  ole  Simeon." 

"  But,  mother,"  said  Robert,  "  if  you  are  ready  to  go, 
I  am  not  willing  to  let  you.  I  want  you  to  stay  ever  so 
long  where  I  can  see  you." 

A  bright  smile  overspread  her  face.  Robert's  words 
reassured  and  gladdened  her  heart.  She  was  well  satis- 
fied to  have  a  pleasant  aftermath  from  life  on  this  side 
of  the  river. 

After  arriving  home  Linda's  first  thought  was  to  pre- 
pare dinner  for  her  guests.  But,  before  she  began  her 
work  of  preparation,  she  went  to  the  cupboard  to  get  a 
cup  of  home-made  wine. 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  185 

"  Here,"  she  said,  filling  three  glasses,  "  is  some  wine 
I  made  myself  from  dat  grape-vine  out  dere.  Don't  it 
look  nice  and  clar  ?     Jist  taste  it.     It's  fys'-rate." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Robert.  "  I'm  a  temperance 
man,  and  never  take  anything  which  has  alcohol  in  it." 

"  Oh,  dis  ain't  got  a  bit  ob  alcohol  in  it.  I  made  it  my- 
self." 

"  But,  Aunt  Linda,  you  didn't  make  the  law  which 
ferments  grape-juice  and  makes  it  alcohol." 

"  But,  Robby,  ef  alcohol's  so  bad,  w'at  made  de  Lord 
put  it  here  ?  " 

"  Aunt  Lindy,"  said  Iola,  "  I  heard  a  lady  say  that 
there  were  two  things  the  Lord  didn't  make.  One  is 
sin,  and  the  other  alcohol." 

"Why,  Aunt  Linda,"  said  Robert,  "there  are  num- 
bers of  things  the  Lord  has  made  that  I  wouldn't  touch 
with  a  pair  of  tongs." 

"  What  are  they?" 

"  Rattlesnakes,  scorpions,  and  moccasins." 

"Oh,  sho!" 

"  Aunt  Linda,"  said  Iola,  "  the  Bible  says  that  the  wine 
at  last  will  bite  like  a  serpent  and  sting  like  an  adder." 

"And,  Aunt  Linda,"  added  Robert,  "as  I  wouldn't 
wind  a  serpent  around  my  throat,  I  don't  want  to  put 
something  inside  of  it  which  will  bite  like  a  serpent  and 
sting  as  an  adder." 

"  I  reckon  Robby 's  right,"  said  his  mother,  setting 
down  her  glass  and  leaving  the  wine  unfinished.  "  You 
young  folks  knows  a  heap  more  dan  we  ole  folks." 

"Well,"  declared  Aunt  Linda,  "you  all  is  temp'rence 
to  de  backbone.  But  what  could  I  do  wid  my  wine  ef 
we  didn't  drink  it  ?  " 


1 86  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  Let  it  turn  to  vinegar,  and  sign  the  temperance 
pledge,"  replied  Robert. 

"  I  don't  kegr  'bout  it  myself,  but  I  don't  'spect  John 
would  be  willin'  ter  let  it  go,  'cause  he  likes  it  a  heap." 

"  Then  you  must  give  it  up  for  his  sake  and  Job's," 
said  Robert.     "  They  may  learn  to  like  it  too  well." 

"You  know,  Aunt  Linda,"  said  Iola,  "people  don't 
get  to  be  drunkards  all  at  once.  And  you  wouldn't  like 
to  feel,  if  Job  should  learn  to  drink,  that  you  helped 
form  his  appetite." 

"  Dat'  so  !  I  beliebs  I'll  let  dis  turn  to  winegar,  an'  not 
make  any  more." 

"  That's  right,  Aunt  Linda.  I  hope  you'll  hold  to  it," 
said  Robert,  encouragingly. 

Very  soon  Aunt  Linda  had  an  excellent  dinner  pre- 
pared.    After  it   was  over  Robert  went  with   Iola  to 

C ,  where  her  friend,  the  bishop,  was  awaiting  her 

return.  She  told  him  the  wonderful  story  of  Robert's 
finding  his  mother,  and  of  her  sweet,  childlike  faith. 

The  bishop,  a  kind,  fatherly  man,  said,  "  Miss  Iola,  I 
hope  that  such  happiness  is  in  store  for  you.  My  dear 
child,  still  continue  to  pray  and  trust.  I  am  old-fashioned 
enough  to  believe  in  prayer.  I  knew  an  old  lady  living 
in  Illinois,  who  was  a  slave.  Her  son  got  a  chance  to 
come  North  and  beg  money  to  buy  his  mother.  The 
mother  was  badly  treated,  and  made  up  her  mind  to  run 
away.  But  before  she  started  she  thought  she  would 
kneel  down  to  pray.  And  something,  she  said,  reasoned 
within  her,  and  whispered,  '  Stand  still  and  see  what  I 
am  going  to  do  for  you.'  So  real  was  it  to  her  that  she 
unpacked  her  bundle  and  desisted  from  her  flight. 
Strange  as  it   may  appear  to  you,  her    son    returned, 


'  OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  1 87 

bringing  with  him  money  enough  to  purchase  her  free- 
dom, and  she  was  redeemed  from  bondage.  Had  she 
persisted  in  running  away  she  might  have  been  lost  in 
the  woods  and  have  died,  exhausted  by  starvation. 
But  she  believed,  she  trusted,  and  was  delivered.  Her 
son  took  her  North,  where-she  could  find  a  resting  place 
for  the  soles  of  her  feet." 

That  night  Iola  and  the  bishop  left  for  the  South. 


1 88  IOLA  LEROY, 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

A   HOME   FOR   MOTHER. 

AFTER  Iola  had  left  the  settlement,  accompanied  by- 
Robert  as  far  as  the  town,  it  was  a  pleasant  satisfaction 
for  the  two  old  friends  to  settle  themselves  down,  and 
talk  of  times  past,  departed  friends,  and  long-forgotten 
scenes. 

"What,"  said  Mrs.  Johnson,  as  we  shall  call  Robert's 
mother,  "  hab  become  ob  Miss  Nancy's  husband  ?  Is  he 
still  a  libin'?" 

"Oh,  he  drunk  hisself  to  death,'  'responded  Aunt 
Linda. 

"  He  used  ter  be  mighty  handsome." 

"Yes,  but  drink  war  his  ruination." 

"An'  how's  Miss  Nancy?" 

"Oh,  she's  com'd  down  migh'ly.  She's  pore  as  a 
church  mouse.  I  thought  'twould  com'd  home  ter  her 
wen  she  sole  yer  'way  from  yore  chillen.  Dere's  nuffin 
goes  ober  de  debil's  back  dat  don't  come  under  his 
belly.     Do  yo  'member  Miss  Nancy's  fardder?" 

"Ob  course  I  does!" 

"Well,"  said  Aunt  Linda,  "he  war  a  nice  ole  gem- 
men.  Wen  he  died,  I  said  de  las'  gemmen's  dead,  an' 
dere's  noboddy  ter  step  in  his  shoes." 

"  Pore  Miss  Nancy ! "  exclaimed  Robert's  mother. 
"  I  ain't  nothin'  agin  her.  But  I  wouldn't  swap  places 
wid  her,  'cause  I'se  got  my  son ;  an'  I  beliebs  he'll  do 
a  good  part  by  me." 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  1 89 

"Mother,"  said  Robert,  as  he  entered  the  room,  "  I've 
brought  an  old  friend  to  see  you.  Do  you  remember 
Uncle  Daniel  ?" 

Uncle  Daniel  threw  back  his  head,  reached  out  his 
hand,  and  manifested  his  joy  with  "Well,  Haryet !  is 
dis  you?  I  neber  'spected  to  see  you  in  dese  lower 
grouns !  How  does  yer  do  ?  an'  whar  hab  you  bin  all 
dis  time?" 

"O,  I'se  been  tossin'  roun'  'bout;  but  it's  all  com'd 
right  at  las'.      I'se  lib'd  to  see  my  boy  'fore  I  died." 

"My  wife  an'  boys  is  in  glory,"  said  Uncle  Daniel. 
"But  I  'spects  to  see  'em  'fore  long.  'Cause  I'se  tryin' 
to  dig  deep,  build  sure,  an'  make  my  way  from  earth 
ter  glory." 

"  Dat's  de  right  kine  ob  talk,  Dan'el.  We  ole  folks 
ain't  got  long  ter  stay  yere.*' 

They  chatted  together  until  Job  and  Salters  came 
home  for  supper.  After  they  had  eaten,  Uncle  Daniel 
said  : — ■ 

"We'll  hab  a  word  ob  prayer." 

There,  in  that  peaceful  habitation,  they  knelt  down, 
and  mingled  their  prayers  together,  as  they  had  done  in 
bygone  days,  when  they  had  met  by  stealth  in  lonely 
swamps  or  silent  forests. 

The  next  morning  Robert  and  his  mother  started 
northward.  They  were  well  supplied  with  a  bountiful 
luncheon  by  Aunt  Linda,  who  had  so  thoroughly  en- 
joyed  their  sojourn   with   her.      On   the   next   day  he 

arrived  in  the  city  of  P ,   and   took  his  mother  to 

his  boarding-house,  until  he  could  find  a  suitable 
home  into  which  to  install  her.  He  soon  came  across 
one  which  just  suited    his   taste,   but  when    the  agent 


190  IOLA   LEROY, 

discovered  that  Robert's  mother  was  colored,  he  told  him 
that  the  house  had  been  previously  engaged.  In  com- 
pany with  his  mother  he  looked  at  several  other  houses 
in  desirable  neighborhoods,  but  they  were  constantly  met 
with  the  answer,  "  The  house  is  engaged,"  or,  "  We  do 
not  rent  to  colored  people." 

At  length  Robert  went  alone,  and,  finding  a  desirable 
house,  engaged  it,  and  moved  into  it.  In  a  short  time 
it  was  discovered  that  he  was  colored,  and,  at  the  behest 
of  the  local  sentiment  of  the  place,  the  landlord  used 
his  utmost  endeavors  to  oust  him,  simply  because  he 
belonged  to  an  unfashionable  and  unpopular  race.  At 
last  he  came  across  a  landlord  who  was  broad  enough  to 
rent  him  a  good  house,  and  he  found  a  quiet  resting 
place  among  a  set  of  well-to-do  and  well-disposed 
people. 


,  OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  igi 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

FURTHER    LIFTING   OF   THE   VEIL. 

In  one  of  those  fearful  conflicts  by  which  the  Missis- 
sippi was  freed  from  Rebel  intrusion  and  opened  to  com- 
merce Harry  was  severely  wounded,  and  forced  to  leave 
his  place  in  the  ranks  for  a  bed  in  the  hospital. 

One  day,  as  he  lay  in  his  bed,  thinking  of  his  former 
home  in  Mississippi  and  wondering  if  the  chances  of  war 
would  ever  restore  him  to  his  loved  ones,  he  fell  into  a 
quiet  slumber.  When  he  awoke  he  found  a  lady  bend- 
ing over  him,  holding  in  her  hands  some  fruit  and  flow- 
ers. As  she  tenderly  bent  over  Harry's  bed  their  eyes 
met,  and  with  a  thrill  of  gladness  they  recognized  each 
other. 

"  Oh,  my  son,  my  son  ! "  cried  Marie,  trying  to  repress 
her  emotion,  as  she  took  his  wasted  hand  in  hers,  and 
kissed  the  pale  cheeks  that  sickness  and  suffering  had 
blanched.  Harry  was  very  weak,  but  her  presence  was 
a  call  to  life.  He  returned  the  pressure  of  her  hand, 
kissed  it,  and  his  eyes  grew  full  of  sudden  light,  as  he 
murmured  faintly,  but  joyfully  : — 

"Mamma;   oh,  mamma!  have  I  found  you  at  last?" 

The  effort  was  too  much,  and  he  immediately  became 
unconscious. 

Anxious,  yet  hopeful,  Marie  sat  by  the  bedside  of  her 
son  till  consciousness  was  restored.  Caressingly  she 
bent  over  his  couch,  murmuring  in  her  happiness  the 
tenderest,  sweetest  words  cf  motherly  love.     In  Harry's 


I92  IOLA   LEROY, 

veins  flowed  new  life  and  vigor,  calming  the  restlessness 
of  his  nerves. 

As  soon  as  possible  Harry  was  carried  to  his  mother's 
home ;  a  home  brought  into  the  light  of  freedom  by  the 
victories  of  General  Grant.  Nursed  by  his  mother's 
tender,  loving  care,  he  rapidly  recovered,  but,  being  too 
disabled  to  re-enter  the  army,  he  was  honorably  dis- 
charged. 

Lorraine  had  taken  Marie  to  Vicksburg,  and  there 
allowed  her  to  engage  in  confectionery  and  preserving 
for  the  wealthy  ladies  of  the  city.  He  had  at  first 
attempted  to  refugee  with  her  in  Texas,  but,  being 
foiled  in  the  attempt,  he  was  compelled  to  enlist  in 
the  Confederate  Army,  and  met  his  fate  by  being 
killed  just  before  the  surrender  of  Vicksburg. 

"My  dear  son,"  Marie  would  say,  as  she  bent  fondly 
over  him,  "  I  am  deeply  sorry  that  you  are  wounded, 
but  I  am  glad  that  the  fortunes  of  war  have  brought 
us  together.  Poor  Tola!  I  do  wonder  what  has  be- 
come of  her?  Just  as  soon  as  this  war  is  over  I  want 
you  to  search  the  country  all  over.  Poor  child!  How 
my  heart  has  ached  for  her ! " 

Time  passed  on.  Harry  and  his  mother  searched  and 
inquired  for  Iola,  but  no  tidings  of  her  reached  them. 

Having  fully  recovered  his  health,  and  seeing  the 
great  need  of  education  for  the  colored  people,  Harry 
turned  his  attention  toward  them,  and  joined  the  new 
army  of  Northern  teachers. 

He  still  continued  his  inquiries  for  his  sister,  not 
knowing  whether  or  not  she  had  succumbed  to  the 
cruel  change  in  her  life.  He  thought  she  might  have 
passed  into  the  white  basis  for  the  sake  of  bettering  her 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  I93 

fortunes.  Hope  deferred,  which  had  sickened  his  moth- 
er's heart,  had  only  roused  him  to  renewed  diligence. 

A  school  was  offered  him  in  Georgia,  and  thither  he 
repaired,  taking  his  mother  with  him.     They  were  soon 

established  in  the   city  of  A .      In  hope  of  finding 

Iola  he  visited  all  the  conferences  of  the  Methodist 
Church,  but  for  a  long  time  his  search  was  in  vain. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Harry,  one  day  during  his  vacation, 
"there  is  to  be  a  Methodist  Conference  in  this  State  in 

the  city  of  S ,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 

from  here.  I  intend  to  go  and  renew  my  search  for 
Iola." 

"  Poor  child  !  "  burst  out  Marie,  as  the  tears  gathered 
in  her  eyes,  "  I  wonder  if  she  is  living." 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Harry,  kissing  the  pale  cheek  of  his 
mother ;  "  I  don't  feel  that  Iola  is  dead.  I  believe  we 
will  find  her  before  long." 

"  It  seems  to  me  my  heart  would  burst  with  joy  to  see 
my  dear  child  just  once  more.  I  am  glad  that  you  are 
going.     When  will  you  leave?" 

"  To-morrow  morning." 

"  Well,  my  son,  go,  and  my  prayers  will  go  with  you," 
was  Marie's  tender  parting  wish. 

Early  next  morning  Harry  started  for  the  conference, 
and  reached  the  church  before  the  morning  session  was 
over.  Near  him  sat  two  ladies,  one  fair,  the  other  con- 
siderably darker.  There  was  something  in  the  fairer  one 
that  reminded  him  forcibly  of  his  sister,  but  she  was 
much  older  and  graver  than  he  imagined  his  sister  to  be. 
Instantly  he  dismissed  the  thought  that  had  forced  itself 
into  his  mind,  and  began  to  listen  attentively  to  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  conference. 


194  IOLA   LEROY, 

When  the  regular  business  of  the  morning  session  was 
over  the  bishop  arose  and  said  : — ■  ' 

"  I  have  an  interesting  duty  to  perform.  I  wish  to  in- 
troduce a  young  lady  to  the  conference,  who  was  the 
daughter  of  a  Mississippi  planter.  She  is  now  in  search 
of  her  mother  and  brother,  from  whom  she  was  sold  a 
few  months  before  the  war.  Her  father  married  her 
mother  in  Ohio,  where  he  had  taken  her  to  be  educated. 
After  his  death  they  were  robbed  of  their  inheritance 
and  enslaved  by  a  distant  relative  named  Lorraine.  Miss 
Iola  Leroy  is  the  young  lady's  name.  If  any  one  can 
give  the  least  information  respecting  the  objects  of  her 
search  it  will  be  thankfully  received." 

"  I  can,"  exclaimed  a  young  man,  rising  in  the  midst 
of  the  audience,  and  pressing  eagerly,  almost  impetuously, 
forward.  "I  am  her  brother,  and  I  came  here  to  look 
for  her." 

Iola  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  so  flushed  and  bright 
with  the  glow  of  recognition,  rushed  to  him,  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  kissed  him  again  and  again,  cry- 
ing :  "  O,  Harry  ! "  Then  she  fainted  from  excitement. 
The  women  gathered  around  her  with  expressions  of  ten- 
der sympathy,  and  gave  her  all  the  care  she  needed. 
They  called  her  the  "  dear  child,"  for  without  any  effort 
on  her  part  she  had  slidden  into  their  hearts  and  found 
a  ready  welcome  in  each  sympathizing  bosom. 

Harry  at  once  telegraphed  the  glad  tidings  to  his 
mother,  who  waited  their  coming  with  joyful  anticipa- 
tion. Long  before  the  cars  reached  the  city,  Mrs.  Leroy 
was  at  the  depot,  restlessly  walking  the  platform  or 
eagerly  peering  into  the  darkness  to  catch  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  train  which  was  bearing  her  treasures. 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  T95 

At  length  the  cars  arrived,  and,  as  Harry  and  Iola 
alighted,  Marie  rushed  forward,  clasped  Iola  in  her  arms 
and  sobbed  out  her  joy  in  broken  words. 

Very  happy  was  the  little  family  that  sat  together 
around  the  supper-table  for  the  first  time  for  years. 
They  partook  of  that  supper  with  thankful  hearts  and 
with  eyes  overflowing  with  tears  of  joy.  Very  touching 
were  the  prayers  the  mother  uttered,  when  she  knelt 
with  her  children  that  night  to  return  thanks  for  their 
happy  reunion,  and  to  seek  protection  through  the 
slumbers  of  the  night. 

The  next  morning,  as  they  sat  at  the  breakfast-table, 
Marie  said  : — 

"  My  dear  child,  you  are  so  changed  I  do  not  think  I 
would  have  known  you  if  I  had  met  you  in  the 
street  ! " 

"  And  I,"  said  Harry,  "  can  hardly  realize  that  you 
are  our  own  Iola,  whom  I  recognized  as  sister  a  half 
dozen  years  ago." 

"Am  I  so  changed  ?"  asked  Iola,  as  a  faint  sigh  es- 
caped her  lips. 

"Why,  Iola,"  said  Harry,  "you  used  to  be  the  most 
harum-scarum  girl  I  ever  knew — laughing,  dancing,  and 
singing  from  morning  until  night." 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Iola.  "  It  all  comes  back  to 
me  like  a  dream.  Oh,  mamma!  I  have  passed  through 
a  fiery  ordeal  of  suffering  since  then.  But  it  is  useless," 
and  as  she  continued  her  face  assumed  a  brighter  look, 
"to  brood  over  the  past.  Let  us  be  happy  in  the  present. 
Let  me  tell  you  something  which  will  please  you.  Do  you 
remember  telling  me  about  your  mother  and  brother?" 

"Yes,"  said  Marie,  in  a  questioning  tone." 


I96  IOLA    LEROY, 

"Well,"  continued  Iola,  with  eyes  full  of  gladness, 
"I  think  I  have  found  them." 

"  Can  it  be  possible !  "  exclaimed  Marie,  in  astonish- 
ment. "It  is  more  than  thirty  years  since  we  parted. 
I  fear  you  are  mistaken." 

"No,  mamma;  I  have  drawn  my  conclusions,  from 
good  circumstantial  evidence.  After  I  was  taken  from 
you,  I  passed  through  a  fearful  siege  of  suffering,  which 
would  only  harrow  up  your  soul  to  hear.  I  often  shudder 
at  the  remembrance.  The  last  man  in  whose  clutches 
I  found  myself  was  mean,  brutal,  and  cruel.      I  was  in 

his  power  when  the  Union  army  came  into  C ,  where 

I  was  living.  A  number  of  colored  men  stampeded  to 
the  Union  ranks,  with  a  gentleman  as  a  leader,  whom  I 
think  is  your  brother.  A  friend  of  his  reported  my  case 
to  the  commander  of  the  post,  who  instantly  gave 
orders  for  my  release.  A  place  was  given  me  as  nurse 
in  the  hospital.  I  attended  that  friend  in  his  last  ill- 
ness. Poor  fellow  !  he  was  the  best  friend  I  had  in  all 
the  time  I  have  been  tossing  about.  The  gentleman 
whom  I  think  is  your  brother  appeared  to  be  very  anx- 
ious about  his  friend's  recovery,  and  was  deeply  affected 
by  his  death.  In  one  of  the  last  terrible  battles  of  the 
war,  that  of  Five  Forks,  he  was  wounded  and  put  into 
the  hospital  ward  where  I  was  an  attendant.  For 
awhile  he  was  delirious,  and  in  his  delirium  he  would 
sometimes  think  that  I  was  his  mother  and  at  other 
times  his  sister.  I  humored  his  fancies,  would  often 
sing  to  him  when  he  was  restless,  and  my  voice  almost 
invariably  soothed  him  to  sleep.  One  day  I  sang 
to  him  that  old  hymn  we  used  to  sing  on  the  planta- 
tion :— 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  I97 

"  Drooping  souls  no  longer  grieve, 
Heaven  is  propitious  ; 
If  on  Christ  you  do  believe, 
You  will  find  Him  precious." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Marie,  with  a  sigh,  as  memories 
of  the  past  swept  over  her. 

"After  I  had  finished  the  hymn,"  continued  Iola,  "he 
looked  earnestly  and  inquiringly  into  my  face,  and  asked, 
'Where  did  you  learn  that  hymn?  I  have  heard  my 
mother  sing  it  when  I  was  a  boy,  but  I  have  never  heard 
it  since.'  I  think,  mamma,  the  words,  '  I  was  lost  but 
now  I'm  found  ;  glory  !  glory  !  glory  ! '  had  imprinted 
themselves  on  his  memory,  and  that  his  mind  was  as- 
suming a  higher  state  of  intellectuality.  He  asked  me 
to  sing  it  again,  which  I  did,  until  he  fell  asleep.  Then 
I  noticed  a  marked  resemblance  between  him  and 
Harry,  and  I  thought,  '  Suppose  he  should  prove  to  be 
your  long-lost  brother?'  During  his  convalescence  we 
found  that  we  had  a  common  ground  of  sympathy.  We 
were  anxious  to  be  reunited  to  our  severed  relations. 
We  had  both  been  separated  from  our  mothers.  He 
told  me  of  his  little  sister,  with  whom  he  used  to  play. 
She  had  a  mole  on  her  cheek  which  he  called  her 
beauty  spot.  He  had  the  red  spot  on  his  forehead 
which  you  told  me  of." 


I98  IOLA   LEROY, 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

DELIGHTFUL    REUNIONS. 

VERY  bright  and  happy  was  the  home  where  Marie 
and  her  children  were  gathered  under  one  roof.  Mrs. 
Leroy's  neighbors  said  she  looked  ten  years  younger. 
Into  that  peaceful  home  came  no  fearful  forebodings  of 
cruel  separations.  Harry  and  Iola  were  passionately 
devoted  to  their  mother,  and  did  all  they  could  to  flood 
her  life  with  sunshine. 

"  Iola,  dear,"  said  Harry,  one  morning  at  the  break- 
fast-table, "  I  have  a  new  pleasure  in  store  for  you." 

"  What  is  it,  brother  mine  ?"  asked  Iola,  assuming  an 
air  of  interest. 

"  There  is  a  young  lady  living  in  this  city  to  whom  I 
wish  to  introduce  you.  She  is  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able women  I  have  ever  met." 

"Do  tell  me  all  about  her,"  said  Iola.  "  Is  she  young 
and  handsome,  brilliant  and  witty  ? 

"  She,"  replied  Harry,  "  is  more  than  handsome,  she 
is  lovely ;  more  than  witty,  she  is  wise ;  more  than  brill- 
iant, she  is  excellent." 

"Well,  Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Leroy,  smiling,  "if  you 
keep  on  that  way  I  shall  begin  to  fear  that  I  shall  soon 
be  supplanted  by  a  new  daughter." 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma,"  replied  Harry,  looking  slightly 
confused,  "  I  did  not  mean  that." 

"Well,  Harry,"  said  Iola,  amused,  "go  on  with  your 
description ;  I  am  becoming  interested.  Tax  your  pow- 
ers of  description  to  give  me  her  likeness." 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  I99 

1 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,"  continued  Harry,  "  I  sup- 
pose she  is  about  twenty-five  years  old." 

"  Oh,  the  idea,"  interrupted  Iola,  "  of  a  gentleman 
talking  of  a  lady's  age.      That  is  a  tabooed  subject." 

"Why,  Iola,  that  adds  to  the  interest  of  my  picture. 
It  is  her  combination  of  earnestness  and  youthfulness 
which  enhances  her  in  my  estimation." 

"Pardon  the  interruption,"  said  Iola;  "I  am  anxious 
to  hear  more  about   her." 

"Well,  she  is  of  medium  height,  somewhat  slender, 
and  well  formed,  with  dark,  expressive  eyes,  full  of 
thought  and  feeling.  Neither  hair  nor  complexion 
show  the  least  hint  of  blood  admixture." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Iola.  "  Every  person  of  un- 
mixed blood  who  succeeds  in  any  department  of  lit- 
erature, art,  or  science  is  a  living  argument  for  the  capa- 
bility which  is  in  the  race." 

"  Yes,"  responded  Harry,  "  for  it  is  not  the^  white 
blood  which  is  on  trial  before  the  world.  Well,  I  will 
bring  her  around  this  evening." 

In  the  evening  Harry  brought  Miss  Delany  to  call  on 
his  sister  and  mother.  They  were  much  pleased  with 
their  visitor.  Her  manner  was  a  combination  of  suavity 
and  dignity.  During  the  course  of  the  evening  they 
learned  that  she  was  a  graduate  of  the  University  of 
A .  One  day  she  saw  in  the  newspapers  that  col- 
ored women  were  becoming  unfit  to  be  servants  for 
white  people.  She  then  thought  that  if  they  are  not 
fit  to  be  servants  for  white  people,  they  are  unfit  to  be 
mothers  to  their  own  children,  and  she  conceived  the 
idea  of  opening  a  school  to  train  future  wives  and  moth- 
ers.    She  began  on  a  small  scale,  in  a  humble  building, 


200  TOLA   LEROY, 

and  her  work  was  soon  crowned  with  gratifying  success. 
She  had  enlarged  her  quarters,  increased  her  teaching 
force,  and  had  erected  a  large  and  commodious  school- 
house  through  her  own  exertions  and  the  help  of  others. 

Marie  cordially  invited  her  to  call  again,  saying,  as 
she  rose  to  go  :  "I  am  very  glad  to  have  met  ycu. 
Young  women  like  you  always  fill  my  heart  with  hope 
for  the  future  of  our  race.  In  you  I  see  reflected  some 
of  the  blessed  possibilities  which  lie  within  us." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Delany,  "  I  want  to  be  classed 
among  those  of  whom  it  is  said,  '  She  has  done  what  she 
could."' 

Very  pleasant  was  the  acquaintance  which  sprang  up 
between  Miss  Delany  and  Iola.  Although  she  was 
older  than  Iola,  their  tastes  were  so  congenial,  their 
views  of  life  and  duty  in  such  unison,  that  their  acquaint- 
ance soon  ripened  into  strong  and  lasting  friendship. 
There  were  no  foolish  rivalries  and  jealousies  between 
them.  Their  lives  were  too  full  cf  zeal  and  earnestness  for 
them  to  waste  in  selfishness  their  power  to  be  moral 
and  spiritual  forces  among  a  people  who  so  much  needed 
their  helping  hands.  Miss  Delany  gave  Iola  a  situation 
in  her  school ;  but  before  the  term  was  quite  over  she  was 
force  to  resign,  her  health  having  been  so  undermined 
by  the  fearful  strain  through  which  she  had  passed,  that 
she  was  quite  unequal  to  the  task.  She  remained  at 
home,  and  did  what  her  strength  would  allow  in  assisting 
her  mother  in  the  work  of  canning  and  preserving  fruits. 

In  the  meantime,  Iola  had  been  corresponding  with 
Robert.  She  had  told  him  of  her  success  in  finding  her 
mother  and  brother,  and  had  received  an  answer  congrat- 
ulating her  on  the  glad  fruition  of  her  hopes.     He  also 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  201 

said  that  his  business  was  flourishing,  that  his  mother 
was  keeping  house  for  him,  and,  to  use  her  own  expres- 
sion, was  as  happy  as  the  days  are  long.  She  was 
firmly  persuaded  that  Marie  was  her  daughter,  and  she 
wanted  to  see  her  before  she  died. 

"There  is  one  thing,"  continued  the  letter,  "that 
your  mother  may  remember  her  by.  It  was  a  little 
handkerchief  on  which  were  a  number  of  cats'  heads. 
She  gave  one  to  each  of  us." 

"  I  remember  it  well,"  said  Marie,  "  she  must,  indeed, 
be  my  mother.  Now,  all  that  is  needed  to  complete 
my  happiness  is  her  presence,  and  my  brother's.  And  I 
intend,  if  I  live  long  enough,  to  see  them  both." 

Iola  wrote  Robert  that  her  mother  remembered  the 
incident  of  the  handkerchief,  and  was  anxious  to  see 
them. 

In  the  early  fall  Robert  started  for  the  South  in 
order  to  clear  up  all  doubts  with  respect  to  their  rela- 
tionship. He  found  Iola,  Harry,  and  their  mother  liv- 
ing cosily  together.  Harry  was  teaching  and  was  a 
leader  among  the  rising  young  men  of  the  State.  His 
Northern  education  and  later  experience  had  done  much 
toward  adapting  him  to  the  work  of  the  new  era  which 
had  dawned  upon  the  South. 

Marie  was  very  glad  to  welcome  Robert  to  her  home, 
but  it  was  almost  impossible  to  recognize  her  brother  in 
that  tall,  handsome  man,  with  dark-brown  eyes  and 
wealth  of  chestnut-colored  hair,  which  he  readily  lifted 
to  show  the  crimson  spot  which  lay  beneath  it. 

But  as  they  sat  together,  and  recalled  the  long-for- 
gotten scenes  of  their  childhood,  they  concluded  that 
they  were  brother  and  sister. 


202  IOLA    LEROY, 

"  Marie,"  said  Robert,  "  how  would  you  like  to  leave 
the  South  ? " 

"  I  should  like  to  go  North,  but  I  hate  to  leave 
Harry.  He's  a  splendid  young  fellow,  although  I  say 
it  myself.  He  is  so  fearless  and  outspoken  that  I  am 
constantly  anxious  about  him,  especially  at  election 
time." 

Harry  then  entered  the  room,  and,  being  introduced 
to  Robert,  gave  him  a  cordial  welcome.  He  had  just 
returned  from  school. 

"We  were  talking  of  you,  my  son,"  said  Marie. 

"  What  were  you  saying  ?  Nothing  of  the  absent  but 
good  ?  "  asked  Harry. 

"  I  was  telling  your  uncle,  who  wants  me  to  come 
North,  that  I  would  go,  but  I  am  afraid  that  you  will 
get  into  trouble  and  be  murdered,  as  many  others  have 
been." 

"  Oh,  well,  mother,  I  shall  not  die  till  my  time  comes. 
And  if  I  die  helping  the  poor  and  needy,  I  shall  die  at 
my  post.     Could  a  man  choose  a  better  place  to  die?" 

"  Were  you  aware  of  the  virulence  of  caste  prejudice 
and  the  disabilities  which  surround  the  colored  people 
when  you  cast  your  lot  with  them  ?"  asked  Robert. 

"Not  fully,"  replied  Harry;  "but  after  I  found  out 
that  I  was  colored,  I  consulted  the  principal  of  the 
school,  where  I  was  studying,  in  reference  to  the  future. 
He  said  that  if  I  stayed  in  the  North,  he  had  friends 
whom  he  believed  would  give  me  any  situation  I  could 
fill,  and  I  could  simply  take  my  place  in  the  rank  of 
workers,  the  same  as  any  other  man.  Then  he  told  me 
of  the  army,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  enter  it,  actu- 
ated by  a  desire  to  find  my  mother  and  sister;  and  at 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  203 

any  rate  I  wanted  to  avenge  their  wrongs.  I  do  not 
feel  so  now.  Since  I  have  seen  the  fearful  ravages  of 
war,  I  have  learned  to  pity  and  forgive.  The  principal 
said  he  thought  I  would  be  more  apt  to  find  my  family 
if  I  joined  a  colored  regiment  in  the  West  than  if  I 
joined  one  of  the  Maine  companies.  I  confess  at  first  I 
felt  a  shrinking  from  taking  the  step,  but  love  for  my 
mother  overcame  all  repugnance  on  my  part.  Now 
that  I  have  linked  my  fortunes  to  the  race  I  intend  to 
do  all  I  can  for  its  elevation." 

As  he  spoke  Robert  gazed  admiringly  on  the  young 
face,  lit  up  by  noble  purposes  and  lofty  enthusiasm. 

"  You  are  right,  Harry.  I  think  it  would  be  treason, 
not  only  to  the  race,  but  to  humanity,  to  have  you 
ignoring  your  kindred  and  masquerading  as  a  white 
man." 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  said  Marie. 

"  But,  sister,  I  am  anxious  for  you  all  to  come  North. 
If  Harry  feels  that  the  place  of  danger  is  the  post  of 
duty,  let  him  stay,  and  he  can  spend  his  vacations  with 
us.  I  think  both  you  and  Iola  need  rest  and  change. 
Mother  longs  to  see  you  before  she  dies.  She  feels  that 
we  have  been  the  children  of  many  prayers  and  tears, 
and  I  want  to  make  her  last  days  as  happy  as  possible. 
The  South  has  not  been  a  paradise  to  you  all  the  time, 
and  I  should  think  you  would  be  willing  to  leave  it." 

"Yes,  that  is  so.  Iola  needs  rest  and  change,  and 
she  would  be  such  a  comfort  to  mother.  I  suppose,  for 
her  sake,  I  will  consent  to  have  her  go  back  with  you,  at 
least  for  awhile." 

In  a  few  days,  with  many  prayers  and  tears,  Marie, 
half  reluctantly,  permitted  Iola  to  start  for  the  North  in. 


204  IOLA   LEROY, 

company  with  Robert  Johnson,  intending  to  follow  as 
soon  as  she  could  settle  her  business  and  see  Harry  in  av 
good  boarding  place. 

Very  joyful  was  the  greeting  of  the  dear  grandmother. 
Iola  soon  nestled  in  her  heart  and  lent  additional  sun- 
shine to  her  once  checkered  life,  and  Robert,  who  had 
so  long  been  robbed  of  kith  and  kin,  was  delighted  with 
the  new  accession  to  his  home  life. 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  205 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 

NORTHERN   EXPERIENCE. 

"  Uncle  Robert,"  said  Iola,  after  she  had  been  North 
several  weeks,  "  I  have  a  theory  that  every  woman  ought 
to  know  how  to  earn  her  own  living.  I  believe  that  a 
great  amount  of  sin  and  misery  springs  from  the  weak- 
ness and  inefficiency  of  women." 

"  Perhaps  that's  so,  but  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  join  the  great  rank  of  bread-winners. 
Mr.  Waterman  has  advertised  for  a  number  of  sales- 
women, and  I  intend  to  make  application." 

"  When  he  advertises  for  help  he  means  white  women," 
said  Robert. 

"  He  said  nothing  about  color,"  responded  Iola. 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  did.  He  doesn't  expect  any  col- 
ored girl  to  apply." 

"Well,  I  think  I  could  fill  the  place.  At  least  I 
should  like  to  try.  And  I  do  not  think  when  I  apply 
that  I  am  in  duty  bound  to  tell  him  my  great-grand- 
mother was  a  negro." 

"Well,  child,  there  is  no  necessity  for  you  to  go  out 
to  work.  You  are  perfectly  welcome  here,  and  I  hope 
that  you  feel  so." 

"  Oh,  I  certainly  do.  But  still  I  would  rather  earn 
my  own  living." 

That  morning  Iola  applied  for  the  situation,  and, 
being  prepossessing  in  her  appearance,  she  obtained  it. 


206  IOLA   LEROY, 

For  awhile  everything  went  as  pleasantly  as  a  mar- 
riage bell.  But  one  day  a  young  colored  lady,  well- 
dressed  and  well-bred  in  her  manner,  entered  the  store. 
It  was  an  acquaintance  which  Iola  had  formed  in  the 
colored  church  which  she  attended.  Iola  gave  her  a 
few  words  of  cordial  greeting,  and  spent  a  few  mo- 
ments chatting  with  her.  The  attention  of  the  girls 
who  sold  at  the  same  counter  was  attracted,  and  their 
suspicion  awakened.  Iola  was  a  stranger  in  that  city. 
Who  was  she,  and  who  were  her  people  ?  At  last  it 
was  decided  that  one  of  the  girls  should  act  as  a  spy, 
and  bring  what  information  she  could  concerning  Iola. 

The  spy  was  successful.  She  found  out  that  Iola 
was  living  in  a  good  neighborhood,  but  that  none  of 
the  neighbors  knew  her.  The  man  of  the  house  was 
very  fair,  but  there  was  an  old  woman  whom  Iola  called 
"  Grandma,"  and  she  was  unmistakably  colored.  The 
story  was  sufficient.  If  that  were  true,  Iola  must  be 
colored,  and  she  should  be  treated  accordingly. 

Without  knowing  the  cause,  Iola  noticed  a  chill  in  the 
social  atmosphere  of  the  store,  which  communicated  it- 
self to  the  cash-boys,  and  they  treated  her  so  insolently 
that  her  situation  became  very  uncomfortable.  She  saw 
the  proprietor,  resigned  her  position,  and  asked  for  and 
obtained  a  letter  of  recommendation  to  another  mer- 
chant who  had  advertised  for  a  saleswoman. 

In  applying  for  the  place,  she  took  the  precaution  to 
inform  her  employer  that  she  was  colored.  It  made  no 
difference  to  him  ;  but  he  said  : — 

"  Don't  say  anything  about  it  to  the  girls.  They  might 
not  be  willing  to  work  with  yon." 

Iola  smiled,  did  not  promise,  and  accepted  the  situa- 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  207 

tion.  She  entered  upon  her  duties,  and  proved  quite 
acceptable  as  a  saleswoman. 

One  day,  during  an  interval  in  business,  the  girls 
began  to  talk  of  their  respective  churches,  and  the  ques- 
tion was  put  to  Iola: — 

"  Where  do  you  go  to  church  ?  " 

"I  go,"  she  replied,  "to  Rev.  River's  church,  corner 
of  Eighth  and  L  Streets." 

"Oh,  no  ;  you  must  be  mistaken.  There  is  no  church 
there  except  a  colored  one." 

"That  is  where  I  go." 

"  Why  do  you  go  there  ?  " 

"  Because  I  liked  it  when  I  came  here,  and  joined  it." 

"A  member  of  a  colored  church?  What  under 
heaven  possessed  you  to  do  such  a  thing  ?" 

"  Because  I  wished  to  be  with  my  own  people." 

Here  the  interrogator  stopped,  and  looked  surprised 
and  pained,  and  almost  instinctively  moved  a  little 
farther  from  her.  After  the  store  was  closed,  the  girls 
had  an  animated  discussion,  which  resulted  in  the 
information  being  sent  to  Mr.  Cohen  that  Iola  was  a 
colored  girl,  and  that  they  protested  against  her  being 
continued  in  his  employ.  Mr.  Cohen  yielded  to  the 
pressure,  and  informed  Iola  that  her  services  were  no 
longer  needed. 

When  Robert  came  home  in  the  evening,  he  found 
that  Iola  had  lost  her  situation,  and  was  looking  some- 
what discouraged. 

"Well,  uncle,"  she  said,  "I  feel  out  of  heart.  It 
seems  as  if  the  prejudice  pursues  us  through  every 
avenue  of  life,  and  assigns  us  the  lowest  places." 

"That  is  so,"  replied  Robert,  thoughtfully. 


208  IOLA   LEROY, 

"And  yet  I  am  determined,"  said  I  ola,  "to  win  for 
myself  a  place  in  the  fields  of  labor.  I  have  heard  of  a 
place  in  New  England,  and  I  mean  to  try  for  it,  even  if 
I  only  stay  a  few  months." 

"  Well,  if  you  'ivill  go,  say  nothing  about  your  color." 

"  Uncle  Robert,  I  see  no  necessity  for  proclaiming 
that  fact  on  the  house-top.  Yet  I  am  resolved  that 
nothing  shall  tempt  me  to  deny  it.  The  best  blood 
in  my  veins  is  African  blood,  and  I  am  not  ashamed 
of  it." 

"  Hurrah  for  you  ! "  exclaimed  Robert,  laughing 
heartily. 

As  Iola  wished  to  try  the  world  for  herself,  and  so  be 
prepared  for  any  emergency,  her  uncle  and  grandmother 
were  content  to  have  her  go  to  New  England.  The 
town  to  which  she  journeyed  was  only  a  few  hours'  ride 

from  the  city  of  P ,  and  Robert,  knowing  that  there 

is  no  teacher  like  experience,  was  willing  that  Iola  should 
have  the  benefit  of  her  teaching. 

Io!a,  on  arriving  in  H -,  sought  the  firm,  and  was 

informed  that  her  services  were  needed.  She  found  it 
a  pleasant  and  lucrative  position.  There  was  only  one 
drawback — her  boarding  place  was  too  far  from  her 
work.  There  was  an  institution  conducted  by  pro- 
fessed Christian  women,  which  was  for  the  special  use 
of  respectable  young  working  girls.  This  was  in  such 
a  desirable  location  that  she  called  at  the  house  to  en- 
gage board. 

The  matron  conducted  her  over  the  house,  and  grew 
so  friendly  in  the  interview  that  she  put  her  arm  around 
her,  and  seemed  to  look  upon  Iola  as  a  desirable  acces- 
sion  to  the  home.     But,  just  as  Iola  was  leaving,  she 


,  OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  209 

said  to  the  matron  :  "  I  must  be  honest  with  you ;  I  am 
a  colored  woman." 

Swift  as  light  a  change  passed  over  the  face  of  the 
matron.  She  withdrew  her  arm  from  Iola,  and  said  : 
"  I  must  see  the  board  of  managers  about  it." 

When  the  board  met,  Iola's  case  was  put  before  them, 
but  they  decided  not  to  receive  her.  And  these  women, 
professors  of  a  religion  which  taught,  "  If  ye  have  re- 
spect to  persons  ye  commit  sin,"  virtually  shut  the  door 
in  her  face  because  of  the  outcast  blood  in  her  veins. 

Considerable  feeling  was  aroused  by  the  action  of 
these  women,  who,  to  say  the  least,  had  not  put  their 
religion  in  the  most  favorable  light. 

Iola  continued  to  work  for  the  firm  until  she  received 
letters  from  her  mother  and  uncle,  which  informed  her 
that  her  mother,  having  arranged  her  affairs  in  the 
South,  was  ready  to  come  North.     She  then  resolved  to 

return  to  the  city  of  P ,  to  be  ready  to  welcome  her 

mother  on  her  arrival. 

Iola  arrived  in  time  to  see  that  everything  was  in 
order  for  her  mother's  reception.  Her  room  was  fur- 
nished neatly,  but  with  those  touches  of  beauty  that 
womanly  hands  are  such  adepts  in  giving.  A  few 
charming  pictures  adorned  the  walls,  and  an  easy  chair 
stood  waiting  to  receive  the  travel-worn  mother.  Robert 
and  Iola  met  her  at  the  depot ;  and  grandma  was  on 
her  feet  at  the  first  sound  of  the  bell,  opened  the  door, 
clasped   Marie  to  her  heart,  and  nearly  fainted  for  joy. 

"Can  it  be  possible  dat  dis  is  my  little  Marie  ?"  she 
exclaimed. 

It  did  seem  almost  impossible  to  realize  that  this 
faded  woman,  with  pale  cheeks  and  prematurely  whitened 


2IO  IOLA   LEROY, 

hair,  was  the  rosy-cheeked  child  from  whom  she  had 
been  parted  more  than  thirty  years. 

"  Well,"  said  Robert,  after  the  first  joyous  greeting  was 
over,  "love  is  a  very  good  thing,  but  Marie  has  had  a 
long  journey  and  needs  something  that  will  stick  by  the 
ribs.     How  about  dinner,  mother  ?  " 

"  It's  all  ready,"  said  Mrs.  Johnson. 

After  Marie  had  gone  to  her  room  and  changed  her 
dress,  she  came  down  and  partook  of  the  delicious  repast 
which  her  mother  and  Iola  had  prepared  for  her. 

In  a  few  days  Marie  was  settled  in  the  home,  and  was 
well  pleased  with  the  change.  The  only  drawback  to  her 
happiness  was  the  absence  of  her  son,  and  she  expected 
him  to  come  North  after  the  closing  of  his  school. 

"  Uncle  Robert,"  said  Iola,  after  her  mother  had  been 
with  them  several  weeks,  "  I  am  tired  of  being  idle." 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?  "  asked  Robert.  "  You  are 
surely  not  going  East  again,  and  leave  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  said  Marie,  anxiously.  "  I  have 
been  so  long  without  you." 

"  No,  mamma,  I  am  not  going  East.  I  can  get  suit- 
able employment  here  in  the  city  of  P ." 

"But,  Iola,"  said  Robert,  "you  have  tried,  and  been 
defeated.     Why  subject  yourself  to  the  same  experience 


again 


■?■■ 


"Uncle  Robert,  I  think  that  every  woman  should 
have  some  skill  or  art  which  would  insure  her  at  least 
a  comfortable  support.  I  believe  there  would  be  less 
unhappy  marriages  if  labor  were  more  honored  among 
women." 

"Well,  Iola,"  said  her  mother,  "what  is  your  skill?'' 
"  Nursing.     I  was  very  young  when  I  went  into  the 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  211 

i 

hospital,  but  I  succeeded  so  well  that  the  doctor  said  I 

must  have  been  a.  born  nurse.    Now,  I  see  by  the  papers, 

that  a  gentleman   who  has  an  invalid  daughter  wants 

some  one  who  can  be  a  nurse  and  companion  for  her, 

and  I  mean  to  apply  for  the  situation.     I  do  not  think, 

if  I  do  my  part  well  in  that  position,  that  the  blood  in 

my  veins  will  be  any  bar  to  my  success." 

A  troubled  look  stole  over  Marie's  face.  She  sighed 
faintly,  but  made  no  remonstrance.  And  so  it  was  de- 
cided that  Iola  should  apply  for  the  situation. 

Iola  made  application,  and  was  readily  accepted.  Her 
patient  was  a  frail  girl  of  fifteen  summers,  who  was  ill 
with  a  low  fever.  Iola  nursed  her  carefully,  and  soon 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  restored  to  health. 
During  her  stay,  Mr.  Cloten,  the  father  of  the  invalid, 
had  learned  some  of  the  particulars  of  Iola's  Northern 
experience  as  a  bread-winner,  and  he  resolved  to  give 
her  employment  in  his  store  when  her  services  were  no 
longer  needed  in  the  house.  As  soon  as  a  vacancy 
occurred  he  gave  Iola  a  place  in  his  store. 

The  morning  she  entered  on  her  work  he  called  his 
employes  together,  and  told  them  that  Miss  Iola  had 
colored  blood  in  her  veins,  but  that  he  was  going  to  em- 
ploy her  and  give  her  a  desk.  If  any  one  objected  to 
working  with  her,  he  or  she  could  step  to  the  cashier's 
desk  and  receive  what  was  due.  Not  a  man  remon- 
strated, not  a  woman  demurred ;  and  Iola  at  last  found 
a  place  in  the  great  army  of  bread-winners,  which  the 
traditions  of  her  blood  could  not  affect. 

"  How  did  you  succeed  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Cloten  of  her 
husband,  when  he  returned  to  dinner. 

"  Admirably !    '  Everything  is   lovely  and  the  goose 


212  IOLA   LEROY, 

hangs  high.'  I  gave  my  employes  to  understand  that 
they  could  leave  if  they  did  not  wish  to  work  with  Miss 
Leroy.  Not  one  of  them  left,  or  showed  any  disposition 
to  rebel." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Mrs  Cloten.  "  I  am  ashamed 
of  the  way  she  has  been  treated  in  our  city,  when  seek- 
ing to  do  her  share  in  the  world's  work.  I  am  glad  that 
you  were  brave  enough  to  face  this  cruel  prejudice,  and 
give  her  a  situation." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  do  not  make  me  a  hero  for  a  single 
act.  I  am  grateful  for  the  care  Miss  Leroy  gave  our 
Daisy.  Money  can  buy  services,  but  it  cannot  purchase 
tender,  loving  sympathy.  I  was  also  determined  to  let 
my  employes  know  that  I,  not  they,  commanded  my 
business.  So,  do  not  crown  me  a  hero  until  I  have  won 
a  niche  in  the  temple  of  fame.  In  dealing  with  Southern 
prejudice  against  the  negro,  we  Northerners  could  do  it 
with  better  grace  if  we  divested  ourselves  of  our  own. 
We  irritate  the  South  by  our  criticisms,  and,  while  I 
confess  that  there  is  much  that  is  reprehensible  in  their 
treatment  of  colored  people,  yet  if  our  Northern  civiliza- 
tion is  higher  than  theirs  we  should  'criticise  by  creation.' 
We  should  stamp  ourselves  on  the  South,  and  not  let 
the  South  stamp  itself  on  us.  When  we  have  learned  to 
treat  men  according  to  the  complexion  of  their  souls,  and 
not  the  color  of  their  skins,  we  will  have  given  our  best 
contribution  towards  the  solution  of  the  negro  problem." 

"  I  feel,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Cloten,  "  that  what  you 
have  done  is  a  right  step  in  the  right  direction,  and  I 
hope  that  other  merchants  will  do  the  same.  We  have 
numbers  of  business  men,  rich  enough  to  afford  them- 
selves the  luxury  of  a  good  conscience." 


OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  213 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

AN  OLD   FRIEND. 

"  GOOD-MORNING,  Miss  Leroy,"  said  a  cheery  voice  in 
tones  of  glad  surprise,  and,  intercepting  her  path,  Dr. 
Gresham  stood  before  Iola,  smiling,  and  reaching  out  his 
hand. 

"Why,  Dr.  Gresham,  is  this  you?"  said  Iola,  lifting 
her  eyes  to  that  well-remembered  face.  "  It  has  been 
several  years  since  we  met.  How  have  you  been  all  this 
time,  and  where  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  sick,  and  am  just  now  recovering  from 
malaria  and  nervous  prostration.  I  am  attending  a  med- 
ical convention  in  this  city,  and  hope  that  I  shall  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again." 

Iola  hesitated,  and  then  replied  :  "  I  should  be  pleased 
to  have  you  call." 

"It  would  give  me  great  pleasure.  Where  shall  I 
call?" 

"  My  home  is  1006  South  Street,  but  I  am  only  at 
home  in  the  evenings." 

They  walked  together  a  short  distance  till  they  reached 
Mr.  Cloten's  store ;  then,  bidding  the  doctor  good  morn- 
ing, Iola  left  him  repeating  to  himself  the  words  of  his 
favorite  poet : — ■ 

"Thou  art  too  lovely  and  precious  a  gem 
To  be  bound  to  their  burdens  and  sullied  by  them." 

No  one  noticed  the  deep  flush  on  Iola's  face  as  she 
entered  the  store,  nor  the  subdued,  quiet  manner  with 


214  IOLA   LEROY, 

which  she  applied  herself  to  her  tasks.  She  was  living 
over  again  the  past,  with  its  tender,  sad,  and  thrilling 
reminiscences. 

In  the  evening  Dr.  Gresham  called  on  Iola.  She  met 
him  with  a  pleasant  welcome.  Dr.  Gresham  gazed  upon 
her  with  unfeigned  admiration,  and  thought  that  the 
years,  instead  of  detracting  from,  had  only  intensified, 
her  loveliness.  He  had  thought  her  very  beautiful  in 
the  hospital,  in  her  gray  dress  and  white  collar,  with  her 
glorious  wealth  of  hair  drawn  over  her  ears.  But  now, 
when  he  saw  her  with  that  hair  artistically  arranged,  and 
her  finely-proportioned  form  arrayed  in  a  dark  crimson 
dress,  relieved  by  a  shimmer  of  lace  and  a  bow  of  white 
ribbon  at  her  throat,  he  thought  her  superbly  handsome. 
The  lines  which  care  had  written  upon  her  young  face 
had  faded  away.  There  was  no  undertone  of  sorrow  in 
her  voice  as  she  stood  up  before  him  in  the  calm  love- 
liness of  her  ripened  womanhood,  radiant  in  beauty  and 
gifted  in  intellect.  Time  and  failing  health  had  left 
their  traces  upon  Dr.  Gresham.  His  step  was  less  bound- 
ing, his  cheek  a  trifle  paler,  his  manner  somewhat  graver 
than  it  was  when  he  had  parted  from  Iola  in  the  hos- 
pital, but  his  meeting  with  her  had  thrilled  his  heart 
with  unexpected  pleasure.  Hopes  and  sentiments 
which  long  had  slept  awoke  at  the  touch  of  her 
hand  and  the  tones  of  her  voice,  and  Dr.  Gresham 
found  himself  turning  to  the  past,  with  its  sad  memories 
and  disappointed  hopes.  No  other  face  had  displaced 
her  image  in  his  mind ;  no  other  love  had  woven  itself 
around  every  tendril  of  his  soul.  His  heart  and  hand 
were  just  as  free  as  they  were  the  hour  they  had 
parted. 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  21 5 

i 

"  To  see  you  again,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  "  is  a  great 
and  unexpected  pleasure." 

"  You  had  not  forgotten  me,  then  ?  "  said  Iola,  smiling. 

"Forget  you  !  I  would  just  as  soon  forget  my  own 
existence.  I  do  not  think  that  time  will  ever  efface  the 
impressions  of  those  days  in  which  we  met  so  often. 
When  last  we  met  you  were  intending  to  search  for  your 
mother.     Have  you  been  successful  ?  " 

"  More  than  successful,"  said  Iola,  with  a  joyous  ring 
in  her  voice.  "  I  have  found  my  mother,  brother,  grand- 
mother, and  uncle,  and,  except  my  brother,  we  are  all 
living  together,  and  we  are  so  happy.  Excuse  me  a  few 
minutes,"  she  said,  and  left  the  room.  Iola  soon  re- 
turned, bringing  with  her  her  mother  and  grandmother. 

"  These,"  said  Iola,  introducing  her  mother  and  grand- 
mother, " are  the  once-severed  branches  of  our  family; 
and  this  gentleman  you  have  seen  before,"  continued 
Iola,  as  Robert  entered  the  room. 

Dr.  Gresham  looked  scrutinizingly  at  him  and  said  : 
"  Your  face  looks  familiar,  but  I  saw  so  many  faces  at 
the  hospital  that  I  cannot  just  now  recall  your  name." 

"  Doctor,"  said  Robert  Johnson,  "  I  was  one  of  your 
last  patients,  and  I  was  with  Tom  Anderson  when  he 
died." 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Dr.  Gresham  ;  "it  all  comes  back 
to  me.  You  were  wounded  at  the  battle  of  Five  Forks, 
were  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Robert. 

"  I  saw  you  when  you  were  recovering.  You  told  me 
that  you  thought  you  had  a  clue  to  your  lost  relatives, 
from  whom  you  had  been  so  long  separated.  How  have 
you  succeeded  ?  " 


2l6  IOLA   LEROY, 

"Admirably!  I  have  been  fortunate  in  finding  my 
mother,  my  sister,  and  her  children." 

"Ah,  indeed  !  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it.  Where  are 
they  ?  " 

"  They  are  right  here.  This  is  my  mother,"  said  Rob- 
ert, bending  fondly  over  her,  as  she  returned  his  recog- 
nition with  an  expression  of  intense  satisfaction ;  "  and 
this,"  he  continued,  "is  my  sister,  and  Miss  Leroy  is  my 
niece." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it.  It  has 
been  said  that  every  cloud  has  its  silver  lining,  and  the 
silver  lining  of  our  war  cloud  is  the  redemption  of  a 
race  and  the  reunion  of  severed  hearts.  War  is  a 
dreadful  thing ;  but  worse  than  the  war  was  the  slavery 
which  preceded  it." 

"  Slavery,"  said  Iola,  "  was  a  fearful  cancer  eating  into 
the  nation's  heart,  sapping  its  vitality,  and  undermining 
its  life." 

"And  war,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  "was  the  dreadful  sur- 
gery by  which  the  disease  was  eradicated.  The  cancer 
has  been  removed,  but  for  years  to  come  I  fear  that  we 
will  have  to  deal  with  the  effects  of  the  disease.  But  I 
believe  that  we  have  vitality  enough  to  outgrow  those 
effects." 

"  I  think,  Doctor,"  said  Iola,  "  that  there  is  but  one 
remedy  by  which  our  nation  can  recover  from  the  evil 
entailed  upon  her  by  slavery." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Robert. 

"A  fuller  comprehension  of  the  claims  of  the  Gospel 
of  Jesus  Christ,  and  their  application  to  our  national 
life." 

"Yes,"  said  Robert;  "while  politicians  are  stumbling 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  217 

on  the  barren  mountains  of  fretful  controversy,  and  ask- 
ing what  shall  we  do  with  the  negro,  I  hold  that  Jesus 
answered  that  question  nearly  two  thousand  years  ago, 
when  he  said,  'Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should 
do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them.'  " 

"  Yes."  said  Dr.  Gresham ;  "  the  application  of  that 
rule  in  dealing  with  the  negro  would  solve  the  whole 
problem." 

"  Slavery,"  said  Mrs.  Leroy,  "  is  dead,  but  the  spirit 
which  animated  it  still  lives ;  and  I  think  that  a  reckless 
disregard  for  human  life  is  more  the  outgrowth  of  slavery 
than  any  actual  hatred  of  the  negro." 

"The  problem  of  the  nation,"  continued  Dr.  Gresham, 
"is  not  what  men  will  do  with  the  negro,  but  what  will 
they  do  with  the  reckless,  lawless  white  men  who  mur- 
der, lynch,  and  burn  their  fellow-citizens.  To  me  these 
lynchings  and  burnings  are  perfectly  alarming.  Both 
races  have  reacted  on  each  other — men  fettered  the 
slave,  and  cramped  their  own  souls ;  denied  him  knowl- 
edge, and  darkened  their  spiritual  insight ;  subdued  him 
to  the  pliancy  of  submission,  and  in  their  turn  became 
the  thralls  of  public  opinion.  The  negro  came  here  from 
the  heathenism  of  Africa ;  but  the  young  colonies  could 
not  take  into  their  early  civilization  a  stream  of  barbaric 
blood  without  being  affected  by  its  influence,  and  the 
negro,  poor  and  despised  as  he  is,  has  laid  his  hands  on 
our  Southern  civilization  and  helped  mould  its  character." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Leroy;  "the  colored  nurse  could  not 
nestle  her  master's  child  in  her  arms,  hold  up  his  baby 
footsteps  on  their  floors,  and  walk  with  him  through  the 
impressible  and  formative  period  of  his  young  life  with- 
out leaving  upon  him  the  impress  of  her  hand." 


2l8  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Robert,  "  for  the  whole  nation's  sake, 
that  slavery  has  been  destroyed." 

"  And  our  work,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  "  is  to  build 
over  the  desolations  of  the  past  a  better  and  brighter 
future.  The  great  distinction  between  savagery  and 
civilization  is  the  creation  and  maintenance  of. law.  A 
people  cannot  habitually  trample  on  law  and  justice 
without  retrograding  toward  barbarism.  But  I  am  hope- 
ful that  time  will  bring  us  changes  for  the  better;  that, 
as  we  get  farther  away  from  the  war,  we  will  outgrow  the 
animosities  and  prejudices  engendered  by  slavery.  The 
short-sightedness  of  our  fathers  linked  the  negro's  destiny 
to  ours.  We  are  feeling  the  friction  of  the  ligatures 
which  bind  us  together,  but  I  hope  that  the  time  will 
speedily  come  when  the  best  members  of  both  races  will 
unite  for  the  maintenance  of  law  and  order  and  the 
progress  and  prosperity  of  the  country,  and  that  the  in- 
telligence and  virtue  of  the  South  will  be  strong  to  grap- 
ple effectually  with  its  ignorance  and  vice." 

"  I  hope  that  time  will  speedily  come,"  said  Marie. 
"  My  son  is  in  the  South,  and  I  am  always  anxious  for 
his  safety.  He  is  not  only  a  teacher,  but  a  leading  young 
man  in  the  community  where  he  lives." 

"Yes,"  said  Robert,  "and  when  I  see  the  splendid 
work  he  is  doing  in  the  South,  I  am  glad  that,  instead 
of  trying  to  pass  for  a  white  man,  he  has  cast  his  lot 
with  us." 

"  But,"  answered  Dr.  Gresham,  "  he  would  possess 
advantages  as  a  white  man  which  he  could  not  if  he 
were  known  to  be  colored." 

"Doctor,"  said  Iola,  decidedly,  "he  has  greater  ad- 
vantages as  a  colored  man." 


OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  219 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  look- 
ing somewhat  puzzled. 

"Doctor,"  continued  Iola,  "  I  do  not  think  life's  high- 
est advantages  are  those  that  we  can  see  with  our  eyes 
or  grasp  with  our  hands.  To  whom  to-day  is  the  world 
most  indebted — to  its  millionaires  or  to  its  martyrs?" 

"Taking  it  from  the  ideal  standpoint,"  replied  the 
doctor,  "  I  should  say  its  martyrs." 

"To  be,"  continued  Iola,  "the  leader  of  a  race  to 
higher  planes  of  thought  and  action,  to  teach  men  clearer 
views  of  life  and  duty,  and  to  inspire  their  souls  with 
loftier  aims,  is  a  far  greater  privilege  than  it  is  to  open 
the  gates  of  material  prosperity  and  fill  every  home  with 
sensuous  enjoyment." 

"And  I,"  said  Mrs.  Leroy,  her  face  aglow  with  fervid 
feeling,  "would  rather — ten  thousand  times  rather — see 
Harry  the  friend  and  helper  of  the  poor  and  ignorant 
than  the  companion  of  men  who,  under  the  cover  of 
night,  mask  their  faces  and  ride  the  country  on  lawless 
raids." 

"Dr.  Gresham,"  said  Robert,  "we  ought  to  be  the 
leading  nation  of  the  earth,  whose  influence  and  exam- 
ple should  give  light  to  the  world." 

"Not  simply,"  said  Iola,  "a  nation  building  up  a  great 
material  prosperity,  founding  magnificent  cities,  grasping 
the  commerce  of  the  world,  or  excelling  in  literature,  art, 
and  science,  but  a  nation  wearing  sobriety  as  a  crown 
and  righteousness  as  the  girdle  of  her  loins." 

Dr.  Gresham  gazed  admiringly  upon  Iola.  A  glow 
of  enthusiasm  overspread  her  beautiful,  expressive  face. 
There  was  a  rapt  and  far-off  look  in  her  eye,  as  if  she 
were  looking  beyond   the   present  pain  to  a  brighter 


220  IOLA   LEROY, 

future  for  the  race  with  which  she  was  identified,  and 
felt  the  grandeur  of  a  divine  commission  to  labor  for  its 
uplifting. 

As  Dr.  Gresham  was  parting  with  Robert,  he  said : 
"  This  meeting  has  been  a  very  unexpected  pleasure.  I 
have  spent  a  delightful  evening.  I  only  regret  that  I 
had  not  others  to  share  it  with  me.  A  doctor  from  the 
South,  a  regular  Bourbon,  is  stopping  at  the  hotel.  I 
wish  he  could  have  been  here  to-night.  Come  down  to 
the  Concordia,  Mr.  Johnson,  to-morrow  night.  If  you 
know  any  colored  man  who  is  a  strong  champion  of 
equal  rights,  bring  him  along.  Good-night.  I  shall 
look  for  you,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  left    the  door. 

When  Robert  returned  to  the  parlor  he  said  to  Iola: 
"  Dr.  Gresham  has  invited  me  to  come  to  his  hotel  to- 
morrow night,  and  to  bring  some  wide-awake  colored 
man  with  me.  There  is  a  Southerner  whom  he  wishes 
me  to  meet.  I  suppose  he  wants  to  discuss  the  negro 
problem,  as  they  call  it.  He  wants  some  one  who  can 
do  justice  to  the  subject.  I  wonder  whom  I  can  take 
with  me  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  who,  I  think,  will  be  a  capital  one  to 
take  with  you,  and  I  believe  he  would  go,"  said  Iola. 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Robert. 

"  Rev.  Carmicle,  your  pastor." 

"  He  is  just  the  one,"  said  Robert,  "courteous  in  his 
manner  and  very  scholarly  in  his  attainments.  He  is 
a  man  whom  if  everybody  hated  him  no  one  could 
despise  him." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  221 

i 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

OPEN   QUESTIONS. 

In  the  evening  Robert  and  Rev.  Carmicle  called  on 
Dr.  Gresham,  and  found  Dr.  Latrobe,  the  Southerner, 
and  a  young  doctor  by  the  name  of  Latimer,  already 
there.  Dr.  Gresham  introduced  Dr.  Latrobe,  but  it 
was  a  new  experience  to  receive  colored  men  socially. 
His  wits,  however,  did  not  forsake  him,  and  he  received 
the  introduction  and  survived  it. 

"  Permit  me,  now,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  "  to  introduce 
you  to  my  friend,  Dr.  Latimer,  who  is  attending  our 
convention.  He  expects  to  go  South  and  labor  among 
the  colored  people.  Don't  you  think  that  there  is  a 
large  field  of  usefulness  before  him  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Dr.  Latrobe,  "if  he  will  let  politics 
alone." 

"  And  why  let  politics  alone?"  asked  Dr.  Gresham. 

"Because,"  replied  Dr.  Latrobe,  "we  Southerners 
will  never  submit  to  negro  supremacy.  We  will  never 
abandon  our  Caucasian  civilization  to  an  inferior  race." 

"Have  you  any  reason,"  inquired  Rev.  Carmicle,  "to 
dread  that  a  race  which  has  behind  it  the  heathenism  of 
Africa  and  the  slavery  of  America,  with  its  inheritance 
of  ignorance  and  poverty,  will  be  able,  in  less  than  one 
generation,  to  domineer  over  a  race  which  has  behind 
it  ages  of  dominion,  freedom,  education,  and  Chris- 
tianity ?  " 

A  slight  shade  of  vexation  and  astonishment  passed 


222  IOLA   LEROY, 

over  the  face  of  Dr.  Latrobe.  He  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  replied : — 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  negro  as  he  stands  alone,  but 
what  I  dread  is  that  in  some  closely-contested  election 
ambitious  men  will  use  him  to  hold  the  balance  of  power 
and  make  him  an  element  of  danger.  He  is  ignorant, 
poor,  and  clannish,  and  they  may  impact  him  as  their 
policy  would  direct." 

"Any  more,"  asked  Robert,  "than  the  leaders  of  the 
Rebellion  did  the  ignorant,  poor  whites  during  our  late 
conflict  ? 

"  Ignorance,  poverty,  and  clannishness,"  said  Dr. 
Gresham,  "  are  more  social  than  racial  conditions, 
which  may  be  outgrown." 

.  "  And  I  think,"  said  Rev.  Carmicle,  "  that  we  are 
outgrowing  them  as  fast  as  any  other  people  would 
have  done  under  the  same  conditions." 

"  The  negro,"  replied  Dr.  Latrobe,  "  always  has  been 
and  always  will  be  an  element  of  discord  in  our  country." 

"What,  then,  is  your  remedy?"  asked  Dr.  Gres- 
ham. 

"  I  would  eliminate  him  from  the  politics  of  the 
country." 

"  As  disfranchisement  is  a  punishment  for  crime,  is  it 
just  to  punish  a  man  before  he  transgresses  the  law?" 
asked  Dr.  Gresham. 

"  If,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,  "  the  negro  is  ignorant,  poor, 
and  clannish,  let  us  remember  that  in  part  of  our  land 
it  was  once  a  crime  to  teach  him  to  read.  If  he  is 
poor,  for  ages  he  was  forced  to  bend  to  unrequited  toil. 
If  he  is  clannish,  society  has  segregated  him  to  him- 
self." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  223 

"And  even,"  said  Robert,  "has  given  him  a  negro 
pew  in  your  churches  and  a  negro  seat  at  your  com- 
munion table." 

"  Wisely,  or  unwisely,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  "  the  Gov- 
ernment has  put  the  ballot  in  his  hands.  It  is  better 
to  teach  him  to  use  that  ballot  aright  than  to  intimidate 
him  by  violence  or  vitiate  his  vote  by  fraud." 

"  To-day,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,  "  the  negro  is  not  plotting 
in  beer-saloons  against  the  peace  and  order  of  society. 
His  fingers  are  not  dripping  with  dynamite,  neither  is  he 
spitting  upon  your  flag,  nor  flaunting  the  red  banner  of 
anarchy  in  your  face." 

"  Power,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  "  naturally  gravitates  into 
the  strongest  hands.  The  class  who  have  the  best  brain 
and  most  wealth  can  strike  with  the  heaviest  hand.  I 
have  too  much  faith  in  the  inherent  power  of  the  white 
race  to  dread  the  competition  of  any  other  people  under 
heaven." 

"I  think  you  Northerners  fail  to  do  us  justice,"  said 
Dr.  Latrobe.  "The  men  into  whose  hands  you  put 
the  ballot  were  our  slaves,  and  we  would  rather  die  than 
submit  to  them.  Look  at  the  carpet-bag  governments 
the  wicked  policy  of  the  Government  inflicted  upon  us. 
It  was  only  done  to  humiliate  us." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  flushing,  and  rising  to 
his  feet.  "  We  had  no  other  alternative  than  putting 
the  ballot  in  their  hands." 

"I  will  not  deny,"  said  Rev.  Carmicle,  "that  we  have 
made  woeful  mistakes,  but  with  our  antecedents  it  would 
have  been  miraculous  if  we  had  never  committed  any 
mistakes  or  made  any  blunders." 

"They  were  allies  in  war,"  continued  Dr.  Gresham, 


224  IOLA   LEROY, 

"and  I  am  sorry  that  we  have  not  done  more  to  protect 
them  in  peace." 

"  Protect  them  in  peace ! "  said  Robert,  bitterly. 
"What  protection  does  the  colored  man  receive  from 
the  hands  of  the  Government  ?  I  know  of  no  civilized 
country  outside  of  America  where  men  are  still  burned 
for  real  or  supposed  crimes." 

"Johnson,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  compassionately,  "it  is 
impossible  to  have  a  policeman  at  the  back  of  each  col- 
ored man's  chair,  and  a  squad  of  soldiers  at  each  cross- 
road, to  detect  with  certainty,  and  punish  with  celerity, 
each  invasion  of  his  rights.  We  tried  provisional  gov- 
ernments and  found  them  a  failure.  It  seemed  like 
leaving  our  former  allies  to  be  mocked  with  the  name  of 
freedom  and  tortured  with  the  essence  of  slavery.  The 
ballot  is  our  weapon  of  defense,  and  we  gave  it  to  them 
for  theirs." 

"And  there,"  said  Dr.  Latrobe,  emphatically,  "is 
where  you  signally  failed.  We  are  numerically  stronger 
in  Congress  to-day  than  when  we  went  out.  You  made 
the  law,  but  the  administration  of  it  is  in  our  hands,  and 
we  are  a  unit." 

"But,  Doctor,"  said  Rev.  Carmicle,  "you  cannot  will- 
fully deprive  the  negro  of  a  single  right  as  a  citizen 
without  sending  demoralization  through  your  own  ranks." 

"I  think,"  said  Dr.  Latrobe,  "that  we  are  right  in 
suppressing  the  negro's  vote.  This  is  a  white  man's 
government,  and  a  white  man's  country.  We  own 
nineteen-twentieths  of  the  land,  and  have  about  the 
same  ratio  of  intelligence.  I  am  a  white  man,  and,  right 
or  wrong,  I  go  with  my  race." 

"  But,  Doctor,"  said  Rev.  Carmicle5  "  there  are  rights 


'  OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  22$ 

more  sacred  than  the  rights  of  property  and  superior  in- 
telligence." 

"What  are  they?"  asked  Dr.  Latrobe. 

"The  rights  of  life  and  liberty,"  replied  Rev.  Car- 
micle. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Dr.  Gresham  ;  "and  your  South- 
ern civilization  will  be  inferior  until  you  shall  have 
placed  protection  to  those  rights  at  its  base,  not  in 
theory  but  in  fact." 

"  But,  Dr.  Gresham,  we  have  to  live  with  these 
people,  and  the  North  is  constantly  irritating  us  by  its 
criticisms." 

"The  world,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  "is  fast  becoming  a 
vast  whispering  gallery,  and  lips  once  sealed  can  now 
state  their  own  grievances  and  appeal  to  the  conscience 
of  the  nation,  and,  as  long  as  a  sense  of  justice  and  mercy 
retains  a  hold  upon  the  heart  of  our  nation,  you  cannot 
practice  violence  and  injustice  without  rousing  a  spirit 
of  remonstrance.  And  if  it  were  not  so  I  would  be 
ashamed  of  my  country  and  of  my  race." 

"  You  speak,"  said  Dr.  Latrobe,  "  as  if  we  had  wronged 
the  negro  by  enslaving  him  and  being  unwilling  to  share 
citizenship  with  him.  I  think  that  slavery  has  been  of 
incalculable  value  to  the  negro.  It  has  lifted  him  out 
of  barbarism  and  fetich  worship,  given  him  a  language 
of  civilization,  and  introduced  him  to  the  world's  best 
religion.  Think  what  he  was  in  Africa  and  what  he  is 
in  America !  " 

"The  negro,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  thoughtfully,  "  is  not 
the  only  branch  of  the  human  race  which  has  been  low 
down  in  the  scale  of  civilization  and  freedom,  and  which 
has  outgrown    the   measure    of    his    chains.     Slavery, 


226  IOLA   LERO\, 

polygamy,  and  human  sacrifices  have  been  practiced 
among  Europeans  in  bygone  days  ;  and  when  Tyndall 
tells  us  that  out  of  savages  unable  to  count  to  the 
number  of  their  fingers  and  speaking  only  a  language  of 
nouns  and  verbs,  arise  at  length  our  Newtons  and  Shak- 
speares,  I  do  not  see  that  the  negro  could  not  have 
learned  our  language  and  received  our  religion  without 
the  intervention  of  ages  of  slavery." 

"If," said  Rev.  Carmicle,  "Mohammedanism,  with  its 
imperfect  creed,  is  successful  in  gathering  large  numbers 
of  negroes  beneath  the  Crescent,  could  not  a  legitimate 
commerce  and  the  teachings  of  a  pure  Christianity  have 
done  as  much  to  plant  the  standard  of  the  Cross  over 
the  ramparts  of  sin  and  idolatry  in  Africa  ?  Surely  we 
cannot  concede  that  the  light  of  the  Crescent  is  greater 
than  the  glory  of  the  Cross,  that  there  is  less  constrain- 
ing power  in  the  Christ  of  Calvary  than  in  the  Prophet 
of  Arabia  ?  I  do  not  think  that  I  underrate  the  difficul- 
ties in  your  way  when  I  say  that  you  young  men  are 
holding  in  your  hands  golden  opportunities  which  it 
would  be  madness  and  folly  to  throw  away.  It  is  your 
grand  opportunity  to  help  build  up  a  new  South,  not  on 
the  shifting  sands  of  policy  and  expediency,  but  on  the 
broad  basis  of  equal  justice  and  universal  freedom.  Do 
this  and  you  will  be  blessed,  and  will  make  your  life  a 
blessing." 

After  Robert  and  Rev.  Carmicle  had  left  the  hotel, 
Drs.  Latimer,  Gresham,  and  Latrobe  sat  silent  and 
thoughtful  awhile,  when  Dr.  Gresham  broke  the  silence 
by  asking  Dr.  Latrobe  how  he  had  enjoyed  the  evening. 

"Very  pleasantly,"  he  replied.  "I  was  quite  inter- 
ested in  that  parson.     Where  was  he  educated  ?  " 


OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  227 

"  In  Oxford,  I  believe.  I  was  pleased  to  hear  him  say 
that  he  had  no  white  blood  in  his  veins." 

"I  should  think  not,"  replied  Dr.  Latrobe,  "from  his 
looks.  But  one  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer.  It 
is  the  exceptions  which  prove  the  rule." 

"Don't  you  think,"  asked  Dr.  Gresham,  "that  we 
have  been  too  hasty  in  our  judgment  of  the  negro  ?  He 
has  come  handicapped  into  life,  and  is  now  on  trial  be- 
fore the  world.  But  it  is  not  fair  to  subject  him  to  the 
same  tests  that  you  would  a  white  man.  I  believe  that 
there  are  possibilities  of  growth  in  the  race  which  we 
have  never  comprehended." 

"  The  negro,"  said  Dr.  Latrobe,  "  is  perfectly  compre- 
hensible to  me.  The  only  way  to  get  along  with  him  is 
to  let  him  know  his  place,  and  make  him  keep  it." 

"I  think,"  replied  Dr.  Gresham,  "every  man's  place 
is  the  one  he  is  best  fitted  for." 

"  Why,"  asked  Dr.  Latimer,  "  should  any  place  be  as- 
signed to  the  negro  more  than  to  the  French,  Irish,  or 
German  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  replied  Dr.  Latrobe,  "  they  are  all  Caucasians." 

"  Well,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  "  is  all  excellence  summed 
up  in  that  branch  of  the  human  race  ?  " 

"I  think,"  said  Dr.  Latrobe,  proudly,  "that  we  belong 
to  the  highest  race  on  earth  and  the  negro  to  the  lowest." 

"And  yet,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,  "you  have  consorted 
with  them  till  you  have  bleached  their  faces  to  the  white- 
ness of  your  own.  Your  children  nestle  in  their  bos- 
oms ;  they  are  around  you  as  body  servants,  and  yet  if 
one  of  them  should  attempt  to  associate  with  you  your 
bitterest  scorn  and  indignation  would  be  visited  upon 
them." 


228  IOLA    LEROY, 

"  I  think,"  said  Dr.  Latrobe,  "that  feeling  grows  out 
of  our  Anglo-Saxon  regard  for  the  marriage  relation. 
These  white  negroes  are  of  illegitimate  origin,  and  we 
would  scorn  to  share  our  social  life  with  them.  Their 
blood  is  tainted." 

"Who  tainted  it?"  asked  Dr.  Latimer,  bitterly. 
"  You  give  absolution  to  the  fathers,  and  visit  the  mis- 
fortunes of  the  mothers  upon  the  children." 

"  But,  Doctor,  what  kind  of  society  would  we  have  if 
we  put  down  the  bars  and  admitted  everybody  to  social 
equality  ?  " 

"This  idea  of  social  equality,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,  "is 
only  a  bugbear  which  frightens  well-meaning  people 
from  dealing  justly  with  the  negro.  I  know  of  no  place 
on  earth  where  there  is  perfect  social  equality,  and  I 
doubt  if  there  is  such  a  thing  in  heaven.  The  sinner 
who  repents  on  his  death-bed  cannot  be  the  equal  of 
St.  Paul  or  the  Beloved  Disciple." 

"Doctor,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  "  I  sometimes  think  that 
the  final  solution  of  this  question  will  be  the  absorption 
of  the  negro  into  our  race." 

"  Never !  never ! "  exclaimed  Dr.  Latrobe,  vehement- 
ly. "  It  would  be  a  death  blow  to  American  civiliza- 
tion." 

"Why,  Doctor,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,  "you  Southerners 
began  this  absorption  before  the  war.  I  understand  that 
in  one  decade  the  mixed  bloods  rose  from  one-ninth  to 
one-eighth  of  the  population,  and  that  as  early  as  1663 
a  law  was  passed  in  Maryland  to  prevent  English  women 
from  intermarrying  with  slaves ;  and,  even  now,  your 
laws  against  miscegenation  presuppose  that  you  appre- 
hend danger  from  that  source." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  229 

"  Doctor,  it  is  no  use  talking,"  replied  Dr.  Latrobe, 
wearily.  "  There  are  niggers  who  are  as  white  as  I  am, 
but  the  taint  of  blood  is  there  and  we  always  exclude  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  is  there  ?"  asked  Dr.  Gresham. 

"  Oh,  there  are  tricks  of  blood  which  always  betray 
them.  My  eyes  are  more  practiced  than  yours.  I  can 
always  tell  them.  Now,  that  Johnson  is  as  white  as 
any  man ;  but  I  knew  he  was  a  nigger  the  moment  I 
saw  him.     I  saw  it  in  his  eye." 

Dr.  Latimer  smiled  at  Dr.  Latrobe's  assertion,  but  did 
not  attempt  to  refute  it ;  and  bade  him  good-night. 

"  I  think,"  said  Dr.  Latrobe,  "  that  our  war  was  the 
great  mistake  of  the  nineteenth  century.  It  has  left  us 
very  serious  complications.  We  cannot  amalgamate 
with  the  negroes.  We  cannot  expatriate  them.  Now, 
what  are  we  to  do  with  them  ?  " 

"Deal  justly  with  them,"  said  Dr.  Gresham,  "and  let 
them  alone.  Try  to  create  a  moral  sentiment  in  the  na- 
tion, which  will  consider  a  wrong  done  to  the  weakest  of 
them  as  a  wrong  done  to  the  whole  community.  When- 
ever you  find  ministers  too  righteous  to  be  faithless, 
cowardly,  and  time  serving;  women  too  Christly  to 
be  scornful ;  and  public  men  too  noble  to  be  tricky  and 
too  honest  to  pander  to  the  prejudices  of  the  people, 
stand  by  them  and  give  them  your  moral  support." 

"  Doctor,"  said  Latrobe,  "  with  your  views  you  ought 
to  be  a  preacher  striving  to  usher  in  the  millennium." 

"  It  can't  come  too  soon,"  replied  Dr.  Gresham. 


23O  IOLA   LEROY, 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

DIVERGING    PATHS. 

On  the  eve  of  his  departure  from  the  city  of  P- , 

Dr.  Gresham  called  on  Iola,  and  found  her  alone.  They 
talked  awhile  of  reminiscences  of  the  war  and  hospital 
life,  when  Dr.  Gresham,  approaching  Iola,  said : — - 

"  Miss  Leroy,  I  am  glad  the  great  object  of  your  life 
is  accomplished,  and  that  you  have  found  all  your  rela- 
tives. Years  have  passed  since  we  parted,  years  in 
which  I  have  vainly  tried  to  get  a  trace  of  you  and  have 
been  baffled,  but  I  have  found  you  at  last!"  Clasping 
her  hand  in  his,  he  continued,  "I  would  it  were  so  that 
I  should  never  lose  you  again !  Iola,  will  you  not  grant 
me  the  privilege  of  holding  this  hand  as  mine  all 
through  the  future  of  our  lives  ?  Your  search  for  your 
mother  is  ended.  She  is  well  cared  for.  Are  you  not 
free  at  last  to  share  with  me  my  Northern  home,  free  to 
be  mine  as  nothing  else  on  earth  is  mine."  Dr.  Gresham 
looked  eagerly  on  Iola's  face,  and  tried  to  read  its  vary- 
ing expression.  "  Iola,  I  learned  to  love  you  in  the 
hospital.  I  have  tried  to  forget  you,  but  it  has  been  all 
in  vain.  Your  image  is  just  as  deeply  engraven  on  my 
heart  as  it  was  the  day  we  parted." 

"Doctor,"  she  replied,  sadly,  but  firmly,  as  she  with- 
drew her  hand  from  his,  "  I  feel  now  as  I  felt  then,  that 
there  is  an  insurmountable  barrier  between  us." 

"What  is  it,  Iola?"  asked  Dr.  Gresham,  anxiously. 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  23 1 

"It  is  the  public  opinion  which  assigns  me  a  place 
with  the  colored  people." 

"  But  what  right  has  public  opinion  to  interfere  with 
our  marriage  relations  ?  Why  should  we  yield  to  its  be- 
hests ?" 

"  Because  it  is  stronger  than  we  are,  and  we  cannot 
run  counter  to  it  without  suffering  its  penalties." 

"  And  what  are  they,  Iola  ?  Shadows  that  you 
merely  dread  ?" 

"No!  no!  the  penalties  of  social  ostracism  North 
and  South,  except  here  and  there  some  grand  and  noble 
exceptions.  I  do  not  think  that  you  fully  realize  how 
much  prejudice  against  colored  people  permeates  society, 
lowers  the  tone  of  our  religion,  and  reacts  upon  the  life 
of  the  nation.      After  freedom  came,  mamma  was  living 

in    the    city  of   A ,   and    wanted    to    unite   with   a 

Christian  church  there.  She  made  application  for 
membership.  She  passed  her  examination  as  a  candi- 
date, and  was  received  as  a  church  member.  When  she 
was  about  to  make  her  first  communion,  she  uninten- 
tionally took  her  seat  at  the  head  of  the  column.  The 
elder  who  was  administering  the  communion  gave  her 
the  bread  in  the  order  in  which  she  sat,  but  before  he 
gave  her  the  wine  some  one  touched  him  on  the  shoul- 
der and  whispered  a  word  in  his  ear.  He  then  passed 
mamma  by,  gave  the  cup  to  others,  and  then  returned 
to  her.  From  that  rite  connected  with  the  holiest 
memories  of  earth,  my  poor  mother  returned  humiliated 
and  depressed." 

"  What  a  shame ! "  exclaimed  Dr.  Gresham,  indignantly. 

"  I  have  seen,"  continued  Iola,  "the  same  spirit  mani- 
fested in  the  North.     Mamma  once  attempted  to  do 


232  IOLA   LEROY, 

missionary  work  in  this  city.  One  day  she  found  an 
outcast  colored  girl,  whom  she  wished  to  rescue.  She 
took  her  to  an  asylum  for  fallen  women  and  made  an 
application  for  her,  but  was  refused.  Colored  girls  were 
not  received  there.  Soon  after  mamma  found  among 
the  colored  people  an  outcast  white  girl.  Mamma's 
sympathies,  unfettered  by  class  distinction,  were  aroused 
in  her  behalf,  and,  in  company  with  two  white  ladies,  she 
went  with  the  girl  to  that  same  refuge.  For  her  the 
door  was  freely  opened  and  admittance  readily  granted. 
It  was  as  if  two  women  were  sinking  in  the  quicksands, 
and  on  the  solid  land  stood  other  women  with  life-lines 
in  their  hands,  seeing  the  deadly  sands  slowly  creeping 
up  around  the  hapless  victims.  To  one  they  readily 
threw  the  lines  of  deliverance,  but  for  the  other  there 
was  not  one  strand  of  salvation.  Sometime  since, to  the 
same  asylum,  came  a  poor  fallen  girl  who  had  escaped 
from  the  clutches  of  a  wicked  woman.  For  her  the  door 
would  have  been  opened,  had  not  the  vile  woman  from 
whom  she  was  escaping  followed  her  to  that  place  ^>f 
refuge  and  revealed  the  fact  that  she  belonged  to  the 
colored  race.  That  fact  was  enough  to  close  the  door 
upon  her,  and  to  send  her  back  to  sin  and  to  suffer,  and 
perhaps  to  die  as  a  wretched  outcast.  And  yet  in  this 
city  where  a  number  of  charities  are  advertised,  I  do  not 
think  there  is  one  of  them  which,  in  appealing  to  the 
public,  talks  more  religion  than  the  managers  of  this 
asylum.  This  prejudice  against  the  colored  race  envi- 
rons our  lives  and  mocks  our  aspirations." 

"  Iola,  I  see  no  use  in  your  persisting  that  you  are 
colored  when  your  eyes  are  as  blue  and  complexion  as 
white  as  mine." 


OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  233 

"  Doctor,  were  I  your  wife,  are  there  not  people  who 
would  caress  me  as  a  white  woman  who  would  shrink 
from  me  in  scorn  if  they  knew  I  had  one  drop  of  negro 
blood  in  my  veins  ?  When  mistaken  for  a  white  woman 
I  should  hear  things  alleged  against  the  race  at  which  my 
blood  would  boil.  No,  Doctor,  I  am  not  willing  to  live 
under  a  shadow  of  concealment  which  I  thoroughly  hate 
as  if  the  blood  in  my  veins  were  an  undetected  crime  of 
my  soul." 

"  Iola,  dear,  surely  you  paint  the  picture  too  darkly." 

"  Doctor,  I  have  painted  it  with  my  heart's  blood.  It 
is  easier  to  outgrow  the  dishonor  of  crime  than  the  disa- 
bilities of  color.  You  have  created  in  this  country  an 
aristocracy  of  color  wide  enough  to  include  the  South 
with  its  treason  and  Utah  with  its  abominations,  but  too 
narrow  to  include  the  best  and  bravest  colored  man  who 
bared  his  breast  to  the  bullets  of  the  enemy  during  your 
fratricidal  strife.  Is  not  the  most  arrant  Rebel  to-day 
more  acceptable  to  you  than  the  most  faithful  colored 
man  ?  " 

"No!  no!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Gresham,  vehemently. 
"  You  are  wrong.  I  belong  to  the  Grand  Army  of  the 
Republic.  We  have  no  separate  State  Posts  for  the 
colored  people,  and,  were  such  a  thing  proposed,  the  ma- 
jority of  our  members,  I  believe,  would  be  against  it. 
In  Congress  colored  men  have  the  same  seats  as  white 
men,  and  the  color  line  is  slowly  fading  out  in  our  pub- 
lic institutions." 

"  But  how  is  it  in  the  Church  ?  "  asked  Iola. 

"The  Church  is  naturally  conservative.  It  preserves 
old  truths,  even  if  it  is  somewhat  slow  in  embracing  new 
ideas.     It   has   its   social   as  well  as  its  spiritual  side. 


234  IOLA   LEROY, 

Society  is  woman's  realm.  The  majority  of  church  mem- 
bers are  women,  who  are  said  to  be  the  aristocratic  ele- 
ment of  our  country.  I  fear  that  one  of  the  last  strong- 
holds of  this  racial  prejudice  will  be  found  beneath  the 
shadow  of  some  of  our  churches.  I  think,  on  account  of 
this  social  question,  that  large  bodies  of  Christian  temper- 
ance women  and  other  reformers,  in  trying  to  reach  the 
colored  people  even  for  their  own  good,  will  be  quicker 
to  form  separate  associations  than  our  National  Grand 
Army,  whose  ranks  are  open  to  black  and  white,  liber- 
als and  conservatives,  saints  and  agnostics.  But,  Iola, 
we  have  drifted  far  away  from  the  question.  No  one 
has  a  right  to  interfere  with  our  marriage  if  we  do  not 
infringe  on  the  rights  of  others." 

"Doctor,"  she  replied,  gently,  "I  feel  that  our  paths 
must  diverge.  My  life-work  is  planned.  I  intend  spend- 
ing my  future  among  the  colored  people  of  the  South." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  he  replied,  anxiously,  "  I  am  afraid 
that  you  are  destined  to  sad  disappointment.  When  the 
novelty  wears  off  you  will  be  disillusioned,  and,  I  fear, 
when  the  time  comes  that  you  can  no  longer  serve  them 
they  will  forget  your  services  and  remember  only  your 
failings." 

"  But,  Doctor,  they  need  me ;  and  I  am  sure  when  I 
taught  among  them  they  were  very  grateful  for  my 
services." 

"I  think,"  he  replied,  "these people  are  more  thankful 
than  grateful." 

"  I  do  not  think  so;  and  if  I  did  it  would  not  hinder 
me  from  doing  all  in  my  power  to  help  them.  I  do  not 
expect  all  the  finest  traits  of  character  to  spring  from 
the  hot-beds  of  slavery  and  caste.     What  matters  it  if 


,  OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  235 

they  do  forget  the  singer,  so  they  don't  forget  the  song  ? 
No,  Doctor,  I  don't  think  that  I  could  best  serve  my 
race  by  forsaking  them  and  marrying  you." 

"  Iola,"  he  exclaimed,  passionately,  "  if  you  love  your 
race,  as  you  call  it,  work  for  it,  live  for  it,  suffer  for  it, 
and,  if  need  be,  die  for  it ;  but  don't  marry  for  it.  Your 
education  has  unfitted  you  for  social  life  among  them." 

"  It  was,"  replied  Iola,  "through  their  unrequited  toil 
that  I  was  educated,  while  they  were  compelled  to  live 
in  ignorance.  I  am  indebted  to  them  for  the  power  I 
have  to  serve  them.  I  wish  other  Southern  women  felt 
as  I  do.  I  think  they  could  do  so  much  to  help  the 
colored  people  at  their  doors  if  they  would  look  at  their 
opportunities  in  the  light  of  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ. 
Nor  am  I  wholly  unselfish  in  allying  myself  with  the 
colored  people.  All  the  rest  of  my  family  have  done  so. 
My  dear  grandmother  is  one  of  the  excellent  of  the 
earth,  and  we  all  love  her  too  much  to  ignore  our  rela- 
tionship with  her.  I  did  not  choose  my  lot  in  life,  and 
the  simplest  thing  I  can  do  is  to  accept  the  situation  and 
do  the  best  I  can." 

"And  is  this  your  settled  purpose  ?"  he  asked,  sadly. 

"  It  is,  Doctor,"  she  replied,  tenderly  but  firmly.  "  I 
see  no  other.  I  must  serve  the  race  which  needs  me 
most." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  replied ;  "  but  I  cannot 
help  feeling  sad  that  our  paths,  which  met  so  pleasantly, 
should  diverge  so  painfully.  And  yet,  not  only  the 
freedmen,  but  the  whole  country,  need  such  helpful, 
self-sacrificing  teachers  as  you  will  prove  ;  and  if  earnest 
prayers  and  holy  wishes  can  brighten  your  path,  your 
lines  will  fall  in  the  pleasantest  places." 


236  IOLA   LEROY, 

As  he  rose  to  go,  sympathy,  love,  and  admiration 
were  blended  in  the  parting  look  he  gave  her ;  but  he 
felt  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  divert  her  from  her 
purpose.  He  knew  that  for  the  true  reconstruction  of 
the  country  something  more  was  needed  than  bayonets 
and  bullets,  or  the  schemes  of  selfish  politicians  or 
plotting  demagogues.  He  knew  that  the  South  needed 
the  surrender  of  the  best  brain  and  heart  of  the  country 
to  build,  above  the  wastes  of  war,  more  stately  temples 
of  thought  and  action. 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  237 

« 

CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

DR.    LATROBE'S  MISTAKE. 

On  the  morning  previous  to  their  departure  for  their 
respective  homes,  Dr.  Gresham  met  Dr.  Latrobe  in  the 
parlor  of  the  Concordia. 

"  How,"  asked  Dr.  Gresham,  "  did  you  like  Dr.  Lati- 
mer's paper  ?  " 

"Very  much,  indeed.  It  was  excellent.  He  is  a  very 
talented  young  man.  He  sits  next  to  me  at  lunch  and 
I  have  conversed  with  him  several  times.  He  is  very 
genial  and  attractive,  only  he  seems  to  be  rather  cranky 
on  the  negro  question.  I  hope  if  he  comes  South  that 
he  will  not  make  the  mistake  of  mixing  up  with  the 
negroes.  It  would  be  throwing  away  his  influence  and 
ruining  his  prospects.  He  seems  to  be  well  versed  in 
science  and  literature  and  would  make  a  very  delightful 
accession  to  our  social  life." 

"  I  think,"  replied  Dr.  Gresham,  "  that  he  is  an  honor 
to  our  profession.  He  is  one  of  the  finest  specimens 
of  our  young  manhood." 

Just  then  Dr.  Latimer  entered  the  room.  Dr.  La- 
trobe arose  and,  greeting  him  cordially,  said :  "  I  was 
delighted  with  your  paper;  it  was  full  of  thought  and 
suggestion." 

"Thank  you,"  answered  Dr.  Latimer,  "it  was  my  aim 
to  make  it  so." 

"And  you  succeeded  admirably,"  replied  Dr.  Latrobe. 
"  I  could  not  help  thinking  how  much  we  owe  to  hered- 
ity and  environment." 


238  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  Yes,"  said  Dr.  Gresham.  "  Continental  Europe 
yearly  sends  to  our  shores  subjects  to  be  developed  into 
citizens.  Emancipation  has  given  us  millions  of  new- 
citizens,  and  to  them  our  influence  and  example  should 
be  a  blessing  and  not  a  curse." 

"  Well,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,  "  I  intend  to  go  South,  and 
help  those  who  so  much  need  helpers  from  their  own 
ranks." 

"I  hope,"  answered  Dr.  Latrobe,  "that  if  you  go 
South  you  will  only  sustain  business  relations  with  the 
negroes,  and  not  commit  the  folly  of  equalizing  yourself 
with  them." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Dr.  Latimer,  steadily  looking 
him  in  the  eye. 

"  Because  in  equalizing  yourself  with  them  you  drag 
us  down  ;  and  our  social  customs  must  be  kept  intact." 

"  You  have  been  associating  with  me  at  the  conven- 
tion for  several  days ;  I  do  not  see  that  the  contact  has 
dragged  you  down,  has  it  ?  " 

"  You !  What  has  that  got  to  do  with  associating 
with  niggers  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Latrobe,  curtly. 

"  The  blood  of  that  race  is  coursing  through  my 
veins.  I  am  one  of  them,"  replied  Dr.  Latimer,  proudly 
raising  his  head. 

"  You ! "  exclaimed  Dr.  Latrobe,  with  an  air  of  pro- 
found astonishment  and  crimsoning  face. 

"Yes;"  interposed  Dr.  Gresham,  laughing  heartily  at 
Dr.  Latrobe's  discomfiture.  "  He  belongs  to  that  negro 
race  both  by  blood  and  choice.  His  father's  mother 
made  overtures  to  receive  him  as  her  grandson  and  heir, 
but  he  has  nobly  refused  to  forsake  his  mother's  people 
and  has  cast  his  lot  with  them." 


OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  239 

"  And  I,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,  "  would  have  despised 
myself  if  I  had  done  otherwise." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Dr.  Latrobe,  rising,  "  I  was  never 
so  deceived  before.     Good  morning ! " 

Dr.  Latrobe  had  thought  he  was  clear-sighted  enough 
to  detect  the  presence  of  negro  blood  when  all  physical 
traces  had  disappeared.  But  he  had  associated  with 
Dr.  Latimer  for  several  days,  and  admired  his  talent, 
without  suspecting  for  one  moment  his  racial  connection. 
He  could  not  help  feeling  a  sense  of  vexation  at  the  sig- 
nal mistake  he  had  made. 

Dr.  Frank  Latimer  was  the  natural  grandson  of  a 
Southern  lady,  in  whose  farmly  his  mother  had  been  a 
slave.  The  blood  of  a  proud  aristocratic  ancestry  was 
flowing  through  his  veins,  and  generations  of  blood 
admixture  had  effaced  all  trace  of  his  negro  lineage. 
His  complexion  was  blonde,  his  eye  bright  and  piercing, 
his  lips  firm  and  well  moulded  ;  his  manner  very  affable ; 
his  intellect  active  and  well  stored  with  information. 
He  was  a  man  capable  of  winning  in  life  through  his 
rich  gifts  of  inheritance  and  acquirements.  When  free- 
dom came,  his  mother,  like  Hagar  of  old,  went  out  into 
the  wide  world  to  seek  a  living  for  herself  and  child. 
Through  years  of  poverty  she  labored  to  educate  her 
child,  and  saw  the  glad  fruition  of  her  hopes  when  her 
son  graduated  as  an  M.  D.  from  the  University  of  P . 

After  his  graduation  he  met  his  father's  mother,  who 
recognized  him  by  his  resemblance  to  her  dear,  depart- 
ed son.  All  the  mother  love  in  her  lonely  heart  awoke, 
and  she  was  willing  to  overlook  "  the  missing  link  of 
matrimony,"  and  adopt  him  as  her  heir,  if  he  would  ig- 
nore his  identity  with  the  colored  race. 


240  IOLA   LEROY, 

Before  him  loomed  all  the  possibilities  which  only 
birth  and  blood  can  give  a  white  man  in  our  Democratic 
country.  But  he  was  a  man  of  too  much  sterling  worth 
of  character  to  be  willing  to  forsake  his  mother's  race  for 
the  richest  advantages  his  grandmother  could  bestow. 

Dr.  Gresham  had  met  Dr.  Latimer  at  the  beginning 
of  the  convention,  and  had  been  attracted  to  him  by  his 
frank  and  genial  manner.  One  morning,  when  convers- 
ing with  him,  Dr.  Gresham  had  learned  some  of  the 
salient  points  of  his  history,  which,  instead  of  repelling 
him,  had  only  deepened  his  admiration  for  the  young 
doctor.  He  was  much  amused  when  he  saw  the  pleas- 
ant acquaintanceship  between  him  and  Dr.  Latrobe,  but 
they  agreed  to  be  silent  about  his  racial  connection  until 
the  time  came  when  they  were  ready  to  divulge  it ;  and 
they  were  hugely  delighted  at  his  signal  blunder. 


,  OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  2z}.I 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

VISITORS  FROM  THE  SOUTH. 

"  Mamma  is  not  well,"  said  Iola  to  Robert.  "  I  spoke 
to  her  about  sending  for  a  doctor,  but  she  objected  and 
I  did  not  insist." 

"  I  will  ask  Dr.  Latimer,  whom  I  met  at  the  Con- 
cordia, to  step  in.  He  is  a  splendid  young  fellow.  I 
wish  we  had  thousands  like  him." 

In  the  evening  the  doctor  called.  Without  appear- 
ing to  make  a  professional  visit  he  engaged  Marie  in 
conversation,  watched  her  carefully,  and  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  her  failing  health  proceeded  more  from 
mental  than  physical  causes. 

"  I  am  so  uneasy  about  Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Leroy.  He 
is  so  fearless  and  outspoken.  I  do  wish  the  atten- 
tion of  the  whole  nation  could  be  turned  to  the 
cruel  barbarisms  which  are  a  national  disgrace.  I  think 
the  term  'bloody  shirt'  is  one  of  the  most  heartless 
phrases  ever  invented  to  divert  attention  from  cruel 
wrongs  and  dreadful  outrages." 

Just  then  Iola  came  in  and  was  introduced  by  her 
uncle  to  Dr.  Latimer,  to  whom  the  introduction  was  a 
sudden  and  unexpected  pleasure. 

After  an  interchange  of  courtesies,  Marie  resumed  the 
conversation,  saying :  "  Harry  wrote  me  only  last  week 
that  a  young  friend  of  his  had  lost  his  situation  because 
he  refused  to  have  his  pupils  strew  flowers  on  the  streets 
through  which  Jefferson  Davis  was  to  pass." 


242  IOLA   LEROY, 

"I  think,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,  indignantly,  "that  the 
Israelites  had  just  as  much  right  to  scatter  flowers  over 
the  bodies  of  the  Egyptians,  when  the  waves  threw 
back  their  corpses  on  the  shores  of  the  Red  Sea,  as  these 
children  had  to  strew  the  path  of  Jefferson  Davis  with 
flowers.  We  want  our  boys  to  grow  up  manly  citizens, 
and  not  cringing  sycophants.  When  do  you  expect 
your  son,  Mrs.  Leroy?" 

"  Some  time  next  week,"  answered  Marie. 

"  And  his  presence  will  do  you  more  good  than  all  the 
medicine  in  my  chest." 

"  I  hope,  Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Leroy,  "that  we  will  not 
lose  sight  of  you,  now  that  your  professional  visit  is 
ended ;  for  I  believe  your  visit  was  the  result  of  a  con- 
spiracy between  Iola  and  her  uncle." 

Dr.  Latimer  laughed,  as  he  answered,  "  Ah,  Mrs. 
Leroy,  I  see  you  have  found  us  all  out." 

"  Oh,  Doctor,"  exclaimed  Iola,  with  pleasing  excite- 
ment, "  there  is  a  young  lady  coming  here  to  visit  me 
next  week.  Her  name  is  Miss  Lucille  Delany,  and  she 
is  my  ideal  woman.  She  is  grand,  brave,  intellectual, 
and  religious." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  She  would  make  some  man  an  excel- 
lent wife,"  replied  Dr.  Latimer. 

"  Now  isn't  that  perfectly  manlike,"  answered  Iola, 
smiling.  "Mamma,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  Did 
any  of  you  gentlemen  ever  see  a  young  woman  of  much 
ability  that  you  did  not  look  upon  as  a  flotsam  all  adrift 
until  some  man  had  appropriated  her  ?" 

"  I  think,  Miss  Leroy,  that  the  world's  work,  if 
shared,  is  better  done  than  when  it  is  performed  alone. 
Don't  you  think  your  life-work  will  be  better  done   if 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  243 

some  one   shares    it    with    you?"   asked    Dr.    Latimer, 
slowly,  and  with  a  smile  in  his  eyes. 

"  That  would  depend  on  the  person  who  shared  it," 
said  Iola,  faintly  blushing. 

"  Here,"  said  Robert,  a  few  evenings  after  this  conver- 
sation, as  he  handed  Iola  a  couple  of  letters,  "  is  some- 
thing which  will  please  you." 

Iola  took  the  letters,  and,  after  reading  one  of  them, 
said  :  "  Miss  Delany  and  Harry  will  be  here  on  Wed- 
nesday; and  this  one  is  an  invitation  which  also  adds  to 
my  enjoyment." 

"What  is  it  ?"  asked  Marie;  "an  invitation  to  a  hop 
or  a  germ  an  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  something  which  I  value  far  more.  We 
are  all  invited  to  Mr.  Stillman's  to  a  conversazione.''' 

"  What  is  the  object  ?  " 

"His  object  is  to  gather  some  of  the  thinkers  and 
leaders  of  the  race  to  consult  on  subjects  of  vital  interest 
to  our  welfare.  He  has  invited  Dr.  Latimer,  Professor 
Gradnor,  of  North  Carolina,  Mr.  Forest,  of  New  York, 
Hon.  Dugdale,  Revs.  Carmicle,  Cantnor,  Tunster,  Pro- 
fessor Langhorne,  of  Georgia,  and  a  few  ladies,  Mrs. 
Watson,  Miss  Brown,  and  others." 

"  I  am  glad  that  it  is  neither  a  hop  nor  a  german," 
said  Iola,  "  but  something  for  which  I  have  been  long- 
ing." 

"Why,  Iola,"  asked  Robert,  "don't  you  believe  in 
young  people  having  a  good  time  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Iola,  seriously,  "  I  believe  in 
young  people  having  amusements  and  recreations ;  but 
the  times  are  too  serious  for  us  to  attempt  to  make  our 
lives  a  long  holiday." 


244  IOLA    LEROV, 

"Well,  Iola,"  answered  Robert,  "this  is  the  first  holi- 
day we  have  had  in  two  hundred  and  fifty  years,  and  you 
shouldn't  be  too  exacting." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Marie,  "  human  beings  naturally  crave 
enjoyment,  and  if  not  furnished  with  good  amusements 
they  are  apt  to  gravitate  to  low  pleasures." 

"  Some  one,"  said  Robert,  "has  said  that  the  Indian 
belongs  to  an  old  race  and  looks  gloomily  back  to  the 
past,  and  that  the  negro  belongs  to  a  young  race  and 
looks  hopefully  towards  the  future." 

"  If  that  be  so,"  replied  Marie,  "  our  race-life  corre- 
sponds more  to  the  follies  of  youth  than  the  faults  of 
maturer  years." 

On  Dr.  Latimer's  next  visit  he  was  much  pleased  to 
see  a  great  change  in  Marie's  appearance.  Her  eye  had 
grown  brighter,  her  step  more  elastic,  and  the  anxiety 
had  faded  from  her  face.  Harry  had  arrived,  and  with 
him  came  Miss  Delany. 

"Good  evening,  Dr.  Latimer,"  said  Iola,  cheerily,  as 
she  entered  the  room  with  Miss  Lucille  Delany.  "  This 
is  my  friend,  Miss  Delany,  from  Georgia.  Were  she  not 
present  I  would  say  she  is  one  of  the  grandest  women  in 
America." 

"  I  am  very  much  pleased  to  meet  you,"  said  Dr.  Lati- 
mer, cordially;  "  I  have  heard  Miss  Leroy  speak  of  you. 
We  were  expecting  you,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

Just  then  Harry  entered  the  room,  and  Iola  presented 
him  to  Dr.  Latimer,  saying,  "  This  is  my  brother,  about 
whom  mamma  was  so  anxious." 

"  Had  you  a  pleasant  journey  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Latimer, 
after  the  first  greetings  were  over. 

"  Not  especially,"  answered  Miss  Delany.     "  Southern 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  245 

roads  are  not  always  very  pleasant  to  travel.    When  Mr. 

Leroy  entered  the  cars  at  A -,  where  he  was  known, 

had  he  taken  his  seat  among  the  white  people  he  would 
have  been  remanded  to  the  colored  car." 

"But  after  awhile," said  Harry,  "as  Miss  Delany  and 
myself  were  sitting  together,  laughing  and  chatting,  a 
colored  man  entered  the  car,  and,  mistaking  me  for  a 
white  man,  asked  the  conductor  to  have  me  removed, 
and  I  had  to  insist  that  I  was  colored  in  order  to  be  per- 
mitted to  remain.  It  would  be  ludicrous,  if  it  were  not 
vexatious,  to  be  too  white  to  be  black,  and  too  black  to 
be  white." 

"  Caste  plays  such  fantastic  tricks  in  this  country," 
said  Dr.  Latimer. 

"I  tell  Mr.  Leroy,"  said  Miss  Delany,  "that  when 
he  returns  he  must  put  a  label  on  himself,  saying, 
'  I  am  a  colored  man,'  to  prevent  annoyance." 


246  TOLA   LEROY, 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

FRIENDS  IN  COUNCIL. 

On  the  following  Friday  evening,  Mr.  Stillman's  pleas- 
ant, spacious  parlors  were  filled  to  overflowing  with  a 
select  company  of  earnest  men  and  women  deeply  in- 
terested in  the  welfare  of  the  race. 

Bishop  Tunster  had  prepared  a  paper  on  "  Negro  Em- 
igration." Dr.  Latimer  opened  the  discussion  by  speak- 
ing favorably  of  some  of  the  salient  points,  but  said  : — 

"  I  do  not  believe  self-exilement  is  the  true  remedy  for 
the  wrongs  of  the  negro.  Where  should  he  go  if  he  left 
this  country  ?  " 

"  Go  to  Africa,"  replied  Bishop  Tunster,  in  his  bluff, 
hearty  tones.  "  I  believe  that  Africa  is  to  be  redeemed 
to  civilization,  and  that  the  negro  is  to  be  gathered  into 
the  family  of  nations  and  recognized  as  a  man  and  a 
brother." 

"  Go  to  Africa  ? "  repeated  Professor  Langhorne,  of 
Georgia.  "  Does  the  United  States  own  one  foot  of 
African  soil  ?  And  have  we  not  been  investing  our 
blood    in   the  country  for  ages  ? " 

"  I  am  in  favor  of  missionary  efforts,"  said  Professor 
Gradnor,  of  North  Carolina,  "for  the  redemption  of 
Africa,  but  I  see  no  reason  for  expatriating  ourselves 
because  some  persons  do  not  admire  the  color  of  our 
skins." 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  said  Mr.  Stillman,  "  in  emptying 
on  the  shores  of  Africa  a  horde  of  ignorant,  poverty- 


t        OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  247 

stricken  people,  as  missionaries  of  civilization  or  Chris- 
tianity. And  while  I  am  in  favor  of  missionary  efforts, 
there  is  need  here  for  the  best  heart  and  brain  to  work 
in  unison  for  justice  and  righteousness." 

"  America,"  said  Miss  Delany,  "  is  the  best  field  for 
human  development.  God  has  not  heaped  up  our 
mountains  with  such  grandeur,  flooded  our  rivers  with 
such  majesty,  crowned  our  valleys  with  such  fertility, 
enriched  our  mines  with  such  wealth,  that  they  should 
only  minister  to  grasping  greed  and  sensuous  enjoyment." 

"Climate,  soil,  and  physical  environments,"  said  Pro- 
fessor Gradnor,  "have  much  to  do  with  shaping  national 
characteristics.  If  in  Africa,  under  a  tropical  sun,  the 
negro  has  lagged  behind  other  races  in  the  march  of  civili- 
zation, at  least  for  once  in  his  history  he  has,  in  this 
country,  the  privilege  of  using  climatic  advantages  and 
developing  under  new  conditions." 

"Yes,"  replied  Dr.  Latimer,  "and  I  do  not  wish  our 
people  to  become  restless  and  unsettled  before  they  have 
tried  one  generation  of  freedom." 

"  I  am  always  glad,"  said  Mr.  Forest,  a  tall,  distin- 
guished-looking gentleman  from  New  York,  "when  I 
hear  of  people  who  are  ill  treated  in  one  section  of  the 
country  emigrating  to  another.  Men  who  are  deaf  to 
the  claims  of  mercy,  and  oblivious  to  the  demands  of 
justice,  can  feel  when  money  is  slipping  from  their 
pockets." 

" The  negro,"  said  Hon.  Dugdale,  "does  not  present 
to  my  mind  the  picture  of  an  effete  and  exhausted  peo- 
ple, destined  to  die  out  before  a  stronger  race.  Gilbert 
Haven  once  saw  a  statue  which  suggested  this  thought, 
'  I  am  black,   but  comely ;  the  sun   has   looked  down 


248  IOLA   LEROY, 

upon  me,  but  I  will  teach  you  who  despise  me  to  feel 
that  I  am  your  superior.'  The  men  who  are  acquir- 
ing property  and  building  up  homes  in  the  South  show 
us  what  energy  and  determination  may  do  even  in  that 
part  of  the  country.  I  believe  such  men  can  do  more 
to  conquer  prejudice  than  if  they  spent  all  their  lives  in 
shouting  for  their  rights  and  ignoring  their  duties.  No! 
as  there  are  millions  of  us  in  this  country,  I  think  it  best 
to  settle  down  and  work  out  our  own  salvation  here." 

"  How  many  of  us  to-day,"  asked  Professor  Lang- 
horne,  "would  be  teaching  in  the  South,  if  every  field 
of  labor  in  the  North  was  as  accessible  to  us  as  to  the 
whites  ?  It  has  been  estimated  that  a  million  young 
white  men  have  left  the  South  since  the  war,  and,  had 
our  chances  been  equal  to  theirs,  would  we  have  been 
any  more  willing  to  stay  in  the  South  with  those  who 
need  us  than  they?  But  this  prejudice,  by  impact- 
ing us  together,  gives  us  a  common  cause  and  brings 
our  intellect  in  contact  with  the  less  favored  of  our 
race." 

"I  do  not  believe,"  said  Miss  Delany,  "that  the 
Southern  white  people  themselves  desire  any  wholesale 
exodus  of  the  colored  from  their  labor  fields.  It  would 
be  suicidal  to  attempt  their  expatriation." 

"History,"  said  Professor  Langhorne,  "tells  that 
Spain  was  once  the  place  where  barbarian  Europe  came 
to  light  her  lamp.  Seven  hundred  years  before  there 
was  a  public  lamp  in  London  you  might  have  gone 
through  the  streets  of  Cordova  amid  ten  miles  of  lighted 
lamps,  and  stood  there  on  solidly  paved  land,  when 
hundreds  of  years  afterwards,  in  Paris,  on  a  rainy  day 
you  would  have  sunk  to  your  ankles  in  the  mud.     But 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  249 

she  who  bore  the  name  of  the  '  Terror  of  Nations,'  and 
the  '  Queen  of  the  Ocean,'  was  not  strong  enough  to 
dash  herself  against  God's  law  of  retribution  and  escape 
unscathed.  She  inaugurated  a  crusade  of  horror  against 
a  million  of  her  best  laborers  and  artisans.  Vainly  she 
expected  the  blessing  of  God  to  crown  her  work  of 
violence.  Instead  of  seeing  the  fruition  of  her  hopes  in 
the  increased  prosperity  of  her  land,  depression  and 
paralysis  settled  on  her  trade  and  business.  A  fearful 
blow  was  struck  at  her  agriculture  ;  decay  settled  on 
her  manufactories  ;  money  became  too  scarce  to  pay  the 
necessary  expenses  of  the  king's  exchequer ;  and  that 
once  mighty  empire  became  a  fallen  kingdom,  pierced 
by  her  crimes  and  dragged  down  by  her  transgressions." 

"  We  did  not,"  said  Iola,  "  place  the  bounds  of  our 
habitation.  And  I  believe  we  are  to  be  fixtures  in  this 
country.  But  beyond  the  shadows  I  see  the  coruscation 
of  a  brighter  day ;  and  we  can  help  usher  it  in,  not  by 
answering  hate  with  hate,  or  giving  scorn  for  scorn,  but 
by  striving  to  be  more  generous,  noble,  and  just.  It 
seems  as  if  all  creation  travels  to  respond  to  the  song  of 
the  Herald  angels,  '  Peace  on  earth,  good-will  toward 
men.'" 

The  next  paper  was  on  "  Patriotism,"  by  Rev.  Cant- 
nor.  It  was  a  paper  in  which  the  white  man  was  ex- 
tolled as  the  master  race,  and  spoke  as  if  it  were  a  privi- 
lege for  the  colored  man  to  be  linked  to  his  destiny  and 
to  live  beneath  the  shadow  of  his  power.  He  asserted 
that  the  white  race  of  this  country  is  the  broadest,  most 
Christian,  and  humane  of  that  branch  of  the  human 
family. 

Dr.  Latimer  took  exception  to  his  position.     "  Law," 


250  IOLA   LEROY, 

he  said,  "  is  the  pivot  on  which  the  whole  universe  turns ; 
and  obedience  to  law  is  the  gauge  by  which  a  nation's 
strength  or  weakness  is  tried.  We  have  had  two  evils 
by  which  our  obedience  to  law  has  been  tested — slavery 
and  the  liquor  traffic.  How  have  we  dealt  with  them 
both  ?  We  have  been  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found 
wanting.  Millions  of  slaves  and  serfs  have  been  liber- 
ated during  this  century,  but  not  even  in  semi-barbaric 
Russia,  heathen  Japan,  or  Catholic  Spain  has  slavery 
been  abolished  through  such  a  fearful  conflict  as  it  was 
in  the  United  States.  The  liquor  traffic  still  sends  its 
floods  of  ruin  and  shame  to  the  habitations  of  men,  and 
no  political  party  has  been  found  with  enough  moral 
power  and  numerical  strength  to  stay  the  tide  of  death." 

"  I  think,"  said  Professor  Gradnor,  "  that  what  our 
country  needs  is  truth  more  than  flattery.  I  do  not 
think  that  our  moral  life  keeps  pace  with  our  mental 
development  and  material  progress.  I  know  of  no  civil- 
ized country  on  the  globe,  Catholic,  Protestant,  or  Mo- 
hammedan, where  life  is  less  secure  than  it  is  in  the 
South.  Nearly  eighteen  hundred  years  ago  the  life  of 
a  Roman  citizen  in  Palestine  was  in  danger  from  mob 
violence.  That  pagan  government  threw  around  him 
a  wall  of  living  clay,  consisting  of  four  hundred  and 
seventy  men,  when  more  than  forty  Jews  had  bound 
themselves  with  an  oath  that  they  would  neither  eat 
nor  drink  until  they  had  taken  the  life  of  the  Apostle 
Paul.  Does  not  true  patriotism  demand  that  citizen- 
ship should  be  as  much  protected  in  Christian  America 
as  it  was  in  heathen  Rome  ?" 

"  I  would  have  our  people,"  said  Miss  Delany,  "more 
interested  in  politics.     Instead  of  forgetting  the  past,  I 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  2$  I 

would  have  them  hold  in  everlasting  remembrance  our 
great  deliverance.  Hitherto  we  have  never  had  a 
country  with  tender,  precious  memories  to  fill  our  eyes 
with  tears,  or  glad  reminiscences  to  thrill  our  hearts  with 
pride  and  joy.  We  have  been  aliens  and  outcasts  in 
the  land  of  our  birth.  But  I  want  my  pupils  to  do  all 
in  their  power  to  make  this  country  worthy  of  their 
deepest  devotion  and  loftiest  patriotism.  I  want  them 
to  feel  that  its  glory  is  their  glory,  its  dishonor  their 
shame." 

"Our  esteemed  friend,  Mrs.  Watson,"  said  Iola,  "sends 
regrets  that  she  cannot  come,  but  has  kindly  favored  us 
with  a  poem,  called  the  "  Rallying  Cry."  In  her  letter 
she  says  that,  although  she  is  no  longer  young,  she  feels 
that  in  the  conflict  for  the  right  there's  room  for  young 
as  well  as  old.  She  hopes  that  we  will  here  unite  the 
enthusiasm  of  youth  with  the  experience  of  age,  and  that 
we  will  have  a  pleasant  and  profitable  conference.  Is 
it  your  pleasure  that  the  poem  be  read  at  this  stage  of 
our  proceedings,  or  later  on?" 

"  Let  us  have  it  now,"  answered  Harry,  "  and  I  move 
that  Miss  Delany  be  chosen  to  lend  to  the  poem  the 
charm  of  her  voice." 

"  I  second  the  motion,"  said  Iola,  smiling,  and  handing 
the  poem  to  Miss  Delany. 

Miss  Delany  took  the  poem  and  read  it  with  fine 
effect.     The  spirit  of  the  poem  had  entered  her  soul. 

A  RALLYING  CRY. 

Oh,  children  of  the  tropics, 

Amid  our  pain  and  wrong- 
Have  you  no  other  mission 

Than  music,  dance,  and  song  ? 


252  IOLA   LEROY, 

When  through  the  weary  ages 
Our  dripping  tears  still  fall, 

Is  this  a  time  to  dally 
With  pleasure's  silken  thrall? 

Go,  muffle  all  your  viols  ; 

As  heroes  learn  to  stand, 
With  faith  in  God's  great  justice 

Nerve  every  heart  and  hand. 

Dream  not  of  ease  nor  pleasure, 
Nor  honor,  wealth,  nor  fame, 

Till  from  the  dust  you've  lifted 
Our  long-dishonored  name ; 

And  crowned  that  name  with  glory 
By  deeds  of  holy  worth, 

To  shine  with  light  emblazoned, 
The  noblest  name  on  earth. 

Count  life  a  dismal  failure, 
Unblessing  and  unblest, 

That  seeks  'mid  ease  inglorious 
For  pleasure  or  for  rest. 

With  courage,  strength,  and  valor 
Your  lives  and  actions  brace  ; 

Shrink  not  from  toil  or  hardship, 
And  dangers  bravely  face. 

Engrave  upon  your  banners, 
In  words  of  golden  light, 

That  honor,  truth,  and  justice 
Are  more  than  godless  might. 

Above  earth's  pain  and  sorrow 
Christ's  dying  face  I  see  ; 

I  hear  the  cry  of  anguish  : — 

"Why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  " 


'  OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  253 

In  the  pallor  of  that  anguish 

I  see  the  only  light, 
To  flood  with  peace  and  gladness 

Earth's  sorrow,  pain,  and  night. 

Arrayed  in  Christly  armor 

'Gainst  error,  crime,  and  sin, 
The  victory  can't  be  doubtful, 

For  God  is  sure  to  win. 

The  next  paper  was  by  Miss  Iola  Leroy,  on  the 
"  Education  of  Mothers." 

"I  agree,"  said  Rev.  Eustace,  of  St.  Mary's  parish, 
"  with  the  paper.  The  great  need  of  the  race  is  enlight- 
ened mothers." 

"  And  enlightened  fathers,  too,"  added  Miss  Delany, 
quickly.  "  If  there  is  anything  I  chafe  to  see  it  is  a 
strong,  hearty  man  shirking  his  burdens,  putting  them 
on  the  shoulders  of  his  wife,  and  taking  life  easy  for 
himself." 

"I  always  pity  such  mothers,"  interposed  Iola,  ten- 
derly. 

"  I  think,"  said  Miss  Delany,  with  a  flash  in  her  eye 
and  a  ring  of  decision  in  her  voice,  "  that  such  men 
ought  to  be  drummed  out  of  town ! "  As  she  spoke, 
there  was  an  expression  which  seemed  to  say,  "  And  I 
would  like  to  help  do  it ! " 

Harry  smiled,  and  gave  her  a  quick  glance  of  admira- 
tion. 

"I  do  not  think,"  said  Mrs.  Stillman,  "that  we  can 
begin  too  early  to  teach  our  boys  to  be  manly  and  self- 
respecting,  and  our  girls  to  be  useful  and  self-reliant." 

"  You  know,"  said  Mrs.  Leroy,  "  that  after  the  war  we 
were  thrown  upon  the  nation  a  homeless  race  to  be 


254  I(^LA   LEROY, 

gathered  into  homes,  and  a  legally  unmarried  race  to 
be  taught  the  sacredness  of  the  marriage  relation.  We 
must  instill  into  our  young  people  that  the  true  strength 
of  a  race  means  purity  in  women  and  uprightness  in  men ; 
who  can  say,  with  Sir  Galahad  : — 

'  My  strength  is  the  strength  of  ten, 
Because  my  heart  is  pure.' 

And  where  this  is  wanting  neither  wealth  nor  culture 
can  make  up  the  deficiency." 

"  There  is  a  field  of  Christian  endeavor  which  lies  be- 
tween the  school-house  and  the  pulpit,  which  needs  the 
hand  of  a  woman  more  in  private  than  in  public,"  said 
Miss  Delany. 

"  Yes,  I  have  often  felt  the  need  of  such  work  in  my 
own  parish.  We  need  a  union  of  women  with  the 
warmest  hearts  and  clearest  brains  to  help  in  the  moral 
education  of  the  race,"  said  Rev.  Eustace. 

"  Yes,"  said  Iola,  "  if  we  would  have  the  prisons  empty 
we  must  make  the  homes  more  attractive." 

"  In  civilized  society,"  replied  Dr.  Latimer,  "  there 
must  be  restraint  either  within  or  without.  If  parents 
fail  to  teach  restraint  within,  society  has  her  check-reins 
without  in  the  form  of  chain-gangs,  prisons,  and  the 
gallows." 

The  closing  paper  was  on  the  "  Moral  Progress  of  the 
Race,"  by  Hon.  Dugdale.  He  said:  "The  moral  pro- 
gress of  the  race  was  not  all  he  could  desire,  yet  he  could 
not  help  feeling  that,  compared  with  other  races,  the 
outlook  was  not  hopeless.  I  am  so  sorry  to  see,  how- 
ever, that  in  some  States  there  is  an  undue  proportion 
of  colored  people  in  prisons." 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  255 

"  I  think,"  answered  Professor  Langhorne,  of  Georgia, 
"  that  this  is  owing  to  a  partial  administration  of  law  in 
meting  out  punishment  to  colored  offenders.  I  know 
red-handed  murderers  who  walk  in  this  Republic  un- 
whipped  of  justice,  and  I  have  seen  a  colored  woman 
sentenced  to  prison  for  weeks  for  stealing  twenty-five 
cents.  I  knew  a  colored  girl  who  was  executed  for  mur- 
der when  only  a  child  in  years.  And  it  was  through 
the  intervention  of  a  friend  of  mine,  one  of  the  bravest 
young  men  of  the  South,  that  a  boy  of  fifteen  was  saved 
from  the  gallows." 

"  When  I  look,"  said  Mr.  Forest,  "  at  the  slow  growth 
of  modern  civilization— the  ages  which  have  been 
consumed  in  reaching  our  present  altitude,  and  see 
how  we  have  outgrown  slavery,  feudalism,  and  relig- 
ious persecutions,  I  cannot  despair  of  the  future  of  the 
race." 

"Just  now,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,  "  we  have  the  fearful 
grinding  and  friction  which  comes  in  the  course  of  an 
adjustment  of  the  new  machinery  of  freedom  in  the  old 
ruts  of  slavery.  But  I  am  optimistic  enough  to  believe 
that  there  will  yet  be  a  far  higher  and  better  Christian 
civilization  than  our  country  has  ever  known." 

"  And  in  that  civilization  I  believe  the  negro  is  to  be 
an  important  factor,"  said  Rev.  Cantnor. 

"  I  believe  it  also,"  said  Miss  Delany,  hopefully,  "and 
this  thought  has  been  a  blessed  inspiration  to  my  life. 
When  I  come  in  contact  with  Christless  prejudices,  I 
feel  that  my  life  is  too  much  a  part  of  the  Divine  plan, 
and  invested  with  too  much  intrinsic  worth,  for  me  to  be 
the  least  humiliated  by  indignities  that  beggarly  souls 
can  inflict.     I  feel  more  pitiful  than  resentful  to  those 


256  IOLA   LEROY, 

who  do  not  know  how  much  they  miss  by  living  mean, 
ignoble  lives." 

"  My  heart,"  said  Iola,  "  is  full  of  hope  for  the  future. 
Pain  and  suffering  are  the  crucibles  out  of  which  come 
gold  more  fine  than  the  pavements  of  heaven,  and 
gems  more  precious  than  the  foundations  of  the  Holy 
City." 

"  If,"  said  Mrs.  Leroy,  "  pain  and  suffering  are  factors 
in  human  development,  surely  we  have  not  been  count- 
ed too  worthless  to  suffer." 

"And  is  there,"  continued  Iola,  "a  path  which  we 
have  trodden  in  this  country,  unless  it  be  the  path  of 
sin,  into  which  Jesus  Christ  has  not  put  His  feet  and  left 
it  luminous  with  the  light  of  His  steps  ?  Has  the  negro 
been  poor  and  homeless  ?  The  birds  of  the  air  had  nests 
and  the  foxes  had  holes,  but  the  Son  of  man  had  not 
where  to  lay  His  head.  Has  our  name  been  a  synonym 
for  contempt  ?  '  He  shall  be  called  a  Nazarene.'  Have 
we  been  despised  and  trodden  under  foot  ?  Christ  was 
despised  and  rejected  of  men.  Have  we  been  ignorant 
and  unlearned  ?  It  was  said  of  Jesus  Christ,  '  How 
knoweth  this  man  letters,  never  having  learned  ? '  Have 
we  been  beaten  and  bruised  in  the  prison-house  of 
bondage?  'They  took  Jesus  and  scourged  Him.'  Have 
we  been  slaughtered,  our  bones  scattered  at  the  graves' 
mouth  ?  He  was  spit  upon  by  the  mob,  smitten  and 
mocked  by  the  rabble,  and  died  as  died  Rome's  meanest 
criminal  slave.  To-day  that  cross  of  shame  is  a  throne 
of  power.  Those  robes  of  scorn  have  changed  to  habil- 
iments of  light,  and  that  crown  of  mockery  to  a  diadem 
of  glory.  And  never,  while  the  agony  of  Gethsemane 
and  the  sufferings  of  Calvary  have  their  hold  upon  my 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  257 

heart,  will  I  recognize  any  religion  as  His  which  de- 
spises the  least  of  His  brethren." 

As  Iola  finished,  there  was  a  ring  of  triumph  in  her 
voice,  as  if  she  were  reviewing  a  path  she  had  trodden 
with  bleeding  feet,  and  seen  it  change  to  lines  of  living 
light.  Her  soul  seemed  to  be  flashing  through  the  rare 
loveliness  of  her  face  and  etherealizing  its  beauty. 

Every  one  was  spell-bound.  Dr.  Latimer  was  en- 
tranced, and,  turning  to  Hon.  Dugdale,  said,  in  a  low 
voice  and  with  deep-drawn  breath,  "  She  is  angelic ! " 

Hon.  Dugdale  turned,  gave  a  questioning  look,  then 
replied,  "  She  is  strangely  beautiful !  Do  you  know 
her?" 

"  Yes ;  I  have  met  her  several  times.  I  accompanied 
her  here  to-night.  The  tones  of  her  voice  are  like 
benedictions  of  peace ;  her  words  a  call  to  higher  service 
and  nobler  life." 

Just  then  Rev.  Carmicle  was  announced.  He  had 
been  on  a  Southern  tour,  and  had  just  returned. 

"  Oh,  Doctor,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Stillman,  "  I  am  de- 
lighted to  see  you.  We  were  about  to  adjourn,  but  we 
will  postpone  action  to  hear  from  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Rev.  Carmicle.  "  I  have  not 
the  cue  to  the  meeting,  and  will  listen  while  I  take 
breath." 

"  Pardon  me,"  answered  Mrs.  Stillman.  "  I  should 
have  been  more  thoughtful  than  to  press  so  welcome  a 
guest  into  service  before  I  had  given  him  time  for  rest 
and  refreshment ;  but  if  the  courtesy  failed  on  my  lips 
it  did  not  fail  in  my  heart.  I  wanted  our  young  folks 
to  see  one  of  our  thinkers  who  had  won  distinction  before 
the  war." 


258  IOLA   LEROV, 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Rev.  Carmicle,  smiling,  "some 
of  these  young  folks  will  look  on  me  as  a  back  number. 
You  know  the  cry  has  already  gone  forth,  '  Young  men 
to  the  front."' 

"But  we  need  old  men  for  counsel,"  interposed  Mr. 
Forest,  of  New  York. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Rev.  Carmicle,  "  we  older  men 
would  rather  retire  gracefully  than  be  relegated  or 
hustled  to  a  back  seat.  But  I  am  pleased  to  see  doors 
open  to  you  which  were  closed  to  us,  and  opportunities 
which  were  denied  us  embraced  by  you." 

"  How,"  asked  Hon.  Dugdale,  "do  you  feel  in  refer- 
ence to  our  people's  condition  in  the  South  ?  " 

"  Very  hopeful,  although  at  times  I  cannot  help  feel- 
ing anxious  about  their  future.  I  was  delighted  with 
my  visits  to  various  institutions  of  learning,  and  sur- 
prised at  the  desire  manifested  among  the  young  people 
to  obtain  an  education.  Where  toil-worn  mothers  bent 
beneath  their  heavy  burdens  their  more  favored  daugh- 
ters are  enjoying  the  privileges  of  education.  Young 
people  are  making  recitations  in  Greek  and  Latin  where 
it  was  once  a  crime  to  teach  their  parents  to  read.  I 
also  became  acquainted  with  colored  professors  and 
presidents  of  colleges.  Saw  young  ladies  who  had  grad- 
uated as  doctors.  Comfortable  homes  have  succeeded 
old  cabins  of  slavery.  Vast  crops  have  been  raised  by 
free  labor.  I  read  with  interest  and  pleasure  a  number 
of  papers  edited  by  colored  men.  I  saw  it  estimated 
that  two  millions  of  our  people  had  learned  to  read,  and 
I  feel  deeply  grateful  to  the  people  who  have  supplied 
us  with  teachers  who  have  stood  their  ground  so  nobly 
among  our  people." 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  259 

"  But,"  asked  Mr.  Forest,  "  you  expressed  fears  about 
the  future  of  our  race.  From  whence  do  your  fears 
arise  ?  " 

"  From  the  unfortunate  conditions  which  slavery  has 
entailed  upon  that  section  of  our  country.  I  dread  the 
results  of  that  racial  feeling  which  ever  and  anon  breaks 
out  into  restlessness  and  crime.  Also,  I  am  concerned 
about  the  lack  of  home  training  for  those  for  whom  the 
discipline  of  the  plantation  has  been  exchanged  for  the 
penalties  of  prisons  and  chain-gangs.  I  am  sorry  to  see 
numbers  of  our  young  men  growing  away  from  the  in- 
fluence of  the  church  and  drifting  into  prisons.  I  also 
fear  that  in  some  sections,  as  colored  men  increase  in 
Avealth  and  intelligence,  there  will  be  an  increase  of  race 
rivalry  and  jealousy.  It  is  said  that  savages,  by  putting 
their  ears  to  the  ground,  can  hear  a  far-off  tread.  So, 
to-day,  I  fear  that  there  are  savage  elements  in  our  civil- 
ization which  hear  the  advancing  tread  of  the  negro  and 
would  retard  his  coming.  It  is  the  incarnation  of  these 
elements  that  I  dread.  It  is  their  elimination  I  do  so 
earnestly  desire.  Whether  it  be  outgrown  or  not  is  our 
unsolved  problem.  Time  alone  will  tell  whether  or  not 
the  virus  of  slavery  and  injustice  has  too  fully  permeated 
our  Southern  civilization  for  a  complete  recovery.  Na- 
tions, honey-combed  by  vice,  have  fallen  beneath  the 
weight  of  their  iniquities.  Justice  is  always  uncom- 
promising in  its  claims  and  inexorable  in  its  demands. 
The  laws  of  the  universe  are  never  repealed  to  accom- 
modate our  follies." 

"  Surely,"  said  Bishop  Tunster,  "  the  negro  has  a 
higher  mission  than  that  of  aimlessly  drifting  through 
life  and  patiently  waiting  for  death." 


260  IOLA   LEROY, 

"We  may  not,"  answered  Rev.  Carmicle,  "have  the 
same  dash,  courage,  and  aggressiveness  of  other  races, 
accustomed  to  struggle,  achievement,  and  dominion,  but 
surely  the  world  needs  something  better  than  the  results 
of  arrogance,  aggressiveness,  and  indomitable  power. 
For  the  evils  of  society  there  are  no  solvents  as  potent 
as  love  and  justice,  and  our  greatest  need  is  not  more 
wealth  and  learning,  but  a  religion  replete  with  life  and 
glowing  with  love.  Let  this  be  the  impelling  force  in 
the  race  and  it  cannot  fail  to  rise  in  the  scale  of  char- 
acter and  condition." 

"And,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,"  instead  of  narrowing  our 
sympathies  to  mere  racial  questions,  let  us  broaden  them 
to  humanity's  wider  issues." 

"  Let  us,"  replied  Rev.  Carmicle,  "  pass  it  along  the 
lines,  that  to  be  willfully  ignorant  is  to  be  shamefully 
criminal.  Let  us  teach  our  people  not  to  love  pleasure 
or  to  fear  death,  but  to  learn  the  true  value  of  life,  and 
to  do  their  part  to  eliminate  the  paganism  of  caste  from 
our  holy  religion  and  the  lawlessness  of  savagery  from 
our  civilization." 

"  How  did  you  enjoy  the  evening,  Marie  ? "  asked 
Robert,  as  they  walked  homeward. 

"  I  was  interested  and  deeply  pleased,"  answered 
Marie. 

"  I,"  said  Robert,  "  was  thinking  of  the  wonderful 
changes  that  have  come  to  us  since  the  war.  When  I 
sat  in  those  well-lighted,  beautifully-furnished  rooms,  I 
was  thinking  of  the  meetings  we  used  to  have  in  by- 
gone days.  How  we  used  to  go  by  stealth  into  lonely 
woods  and  gloomy  swamps,  to  tell  of  our  hopes  and 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  26l 

fears,  sorrows  and  trials.  I  hope  that  we  will  have  many 
more  of  these  gatherings.  Let  us  have  the  next  one 
here." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Marie,  "  I  would  gladly  welcome 
such  a  conference  at  any  time.  I  think  such  meet- 
ings would  be  so  helpful  to  our  young  people." 


262  IOLA   LEROY, 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

DAWNING  AFFECTIONS. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Iola,  as  they  walked  home  from  the 
conversazione,  "  I  wish  I  could  do  something  more  for 
our  people  than  I  am  doing.  I  taught  in  the  South  till 
failing  health  compelled  me  to  change  my  employment. 
But,  now  that  I  am  well  and  strong,  I  would  like  to  do 
something  of  lasting  service  for  the  race." 

"Why  not,"  asked  Dr.  Latimer,  "write  a  good,  strong 
book  which  would  be  helpful  to  them  ?  I  think  there 
is  an  amount  of  dormant  talent  among  us,  and  a  large 
field  from  which  to  gather  materials  for  such  a  book." 

"  I  would  do  it,  willingly,  if  I  could ;  but  one  needs 
both  leisure  and  money  to  make  a  successful  book. 
There  is  material  among  us  for  the  broadest  comedies 
and  the  deepest  tragedies,  but,  besides  money  .and 
leisure,  it  needs  patience,  perseverance,  courage,  and 
the  hand  of  an  artist  to  weave  it  into  the  literature  of 
the  country." 

"Miss  Leroy,  you  have  a  large  and  rich  experience; 
you  possess  a  vivid  imagination  and  glowing  fancy. 
Write,  out  of  the  fullness  of  your  heart,  a  book  to  in- 
spire men  and  women  with  a  deeper  sense  of  justice  and 
humanity." 

"  Doctor,"  replied  Iola,  "  I  would  do  it  if  I  could,  not 
for  the  money  it  might  bring,  but  for  the  good  it  might 
do.  But  who  believes  any  good  can  come  out  of  the 
black  Nazareth  ?  " 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  263 

"Miss  Leroy,  out  of  the  race  must  come  its  own 
thinkers  and  writers.  Authors  belonging  to  the  white 
race  have  written  good  racial  books,  for  which  I  am 
deeply  grateful,  but  it  seems  to  be  almost  impossible  for 
a  white  man  to  put  himself  completely  in  our  place. 
No  man  can  feel  the  iron  which  enters  another  man's 
soul." 

"  Well,  Doctor,  when  I  write  a  book  I  shall  take  you 
for  the  hero  of  my  story." 

"  Why,  what  have  1  done,"  asked  Dr.  Latimer,  in  a 
surprised  tone,  "that  you  should  impale  me  on  your 
pen  r 

"  You  have  done  nobly,"  answered  Iola,  "  in  refusing 
your  grandmother's  offer." 

"  I  only  did  my  duty,"  he  modestly  replied. 

"But,"  said  Iola,  "when  others  are  trying  to  slip  out 
from  the  race  and  pass  into  the  white  basis,  I  cannot  help 
admiring  one  who  acts  as  if  he  felt  that  the  weaker  the 
race  is  the  closer  he  would  cling  to  it." 

"  My  mother,"  replied  Dr.  Latimer,  "  faithful  and  true, 
belongs  to  that  race.  Where  else  should  I  be  ?  But  I 
know  a  young  lady  who  could  have  cast  her  lot  with 
the  favored  race,  yet  chose  to  take  her  place  with  the 
freed  people,  as  their  teacher,  friend,  and  adviser.  This 
young  lady  was  alone  in  the  world.  She  had  been  fear- 
fully wronged,  and  to  her  stricken  heart  came  a  brilliant 
offer  of  love,  home,  and  social  position.  But  she  bound 
her  heart  to  the  mast  of  duty,  closed  her  ears  to  the 
syren  song,  and  could  not  be  lured  from  her  purpose." 

A  startled  look  stole  over  Iola's  face,  and,  lifting  her 
eyes  to  his,  she  faltered  : — ■ 

"  Do  you  know  her  ?  " 


264  IOLA   LEROY, 

"Yes,  I  know  her  and  admire  her;  and  she  ought  to 
be  made  the  subject  of  a  soul-inspiring  story.  Do  you 
know  of  whom  I  speak  ?  " 

"  How  should  I,  Doctor  ?  I  am  sure  you  have  not 
made  me  your  confidante,"  she  responded,  demurely; 
then  she  quickly  turned  and  tripped  up  the  steps  of 
her  home,  which  she  had  just  reached. 

After  this  conversation  Dr.  Latimer  became  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  Iola's  home,  and  a  firm  friend  of  her 
brother.  Harry  was  at  that  age  when,  for  the  young 
and  inexperienced,  vice  puts  on  her  fairest  guise  and 
most  seductive  smiles.  Dr.  Latimer's  wider  knowledge 
and  larger  experience  made  his  friendship  for  Harry 
very  valuable,  and  the  service  he  rendered  him 
made  him  a  favorite  and  ever-welcome  guest  in  the 
family. 

"Are  you  all  alone,"  asked  Robert,  one  night,  as  he 
entered  the  cosy  little  parlor  where  Iola  sat  reading. 
"Where  are  the  rest  of  the  folks  ? " 

"  Mamma  and  grandma  have  gone  to  bed,"  answered 
Iola.  "  Harry  and  Lucille  are  at  the  concert.  They 
are  passionately  fond  of  music,  and  find  facilities  here 
that  they  do  not  have  in  the  South.  They  wouldn't 
go  to  hear  a  seraph  where  they  must  take  a  negro 
seat.  I  was  too  tired  to  go.  Besides,  'two's  company 
and  three's  a  crowd,'"  she  added,  significantly. 

"  I  reckon  you  struck  the  nail  on  the  head  that  time," 
said  Robert,  laughing.  "  But  you  have  not  been  alone 
all  the  time.  Just  as  I  reached  the  corner  I  saw  Dr. 
Latimer  leaving  the  door.  I  see  he  still  continues  his 
visits.     Who  is  his  patient  now?" 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Robert,"  said  Iola,  smiling  and  flushing, 


OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  265 

"he  is  out  with  Harry  and  Lucille  part  of  the  time,  and 
drops  in  now  and  then  to  see  us  all." 

"  Well,"  said  Robert,  "  I  suppose  the  case  is  now  an 
affair  of  the  heart.  But  I  cannot  blame  him  for  it," 
he  added,  looking  fondly  on  the  beautiful  face  of  his 
niece,  which  sorrow  had  touched  only  to  chisel  into 
more  loveliness.     "  How  do  you  like  him  ?" 

"  I  must  have  within  me,"  answered  Iola,  with  un- 
affected truthfulness,  "  a  large  amount  of  hero  worship. 
The  characters  of  the  Old  Testament  I  most  admire 
are  Moses  and  Nehemiah.  They  were  willing  to  put 
aside  their  own  advantages  for  their  race  and  country. 
Dr.  Latimer  comes  up  to  my  ideal  of  a  high,  heroic 
manhood." 

"  I  think,"  answered  Robert,  smiling  archly,  "  he 
would  be  delighted  to  hear  your  opinion  of  him." 

"  I  tell  him,"  continued  Iola,  "  that  he  belongs  to  the 
days  of  chivalry.  But  he  smiles  and  says,  'he  only 
belongs  to  the  days  of  hard-pan  service.'" 

"  Some  one,"  said  Robert,  "  was  saying  to-day  that 
he  stood  in  his  own  light  when  he  refused  his  grand- 
mother's offer  to  receive  him  as  her  son." 

"  I  think,"  said  Iola,  "  it  was  the  grandest  hour  of  his 
life  when  he  made  that  decision.  I  have  admired  him 
ever  since  I  heard  his  story." 

"  But,  Iola,  think  of  the  advantages  he  set  aside. 
It  was  no  sacrifice  for  me  to  remain  colored,  with  my 
lack  of  education  and  race  sympathies,  but  Dr.  Latimer 
had  doors  open  to  him  as  a  white  man  which  are  for- 
ever closed  to  a  colored  man.  To  be  born  white  in 
this  country  is  to  be  born  to  an  inheritance  of  privi- 
leges, to  hold  in  your  hands  the  keys  that  open  before 


266  IOLA   LEROY, 

you  the  doors  of  every  occupation,  advantage,  oppor- 
tunity, and  achievement." 

"  I  know  that,  uncLe,"  answered  Iola ;  "  but  even  these 
advantages  are  too  dearly  bought  if  they  mean  loss  of 
honor,  true  manliness,  and  self  respect.  He  could  not 
have  retained  these  had  he  ignored  his  mother  and 
lived  under  a  veil  of  concealment,  constantly  haunted 
by  a  dread  of  detection.  The  gain  would  not  have 
been  worth  the  cost.  It  were  better  that  he  should 
walk  the  ruggedest  paths  of  life  a  true  man  than  tread 
the  softest  carpets  a  moral  cripple." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Robert,  laying  his  hand  caress- 
ingly upon  her  head,  "that  we  are  destined  to  lose  the 
light  of  our  home." 

"  Oh,  uncle,  how  you  talk  !  I  never  dreamed  of  what 
you  are  thinking,"  answered  Iola,  half  reproachfully. 

"  And  how,"  asked  Robert,  "  do  you  know  what  I  am 
thinking  about  ?  " 

"My  dear  uncle,  I'm  not  blind." 

"  Neither  am  I,"  replied  Robert,  significantly,  as  he 
left  the  room. 

Iola's  admiration  for  Dr.  Latimer  was  not  a  one-sided 
affair.  Day  after  day  she  was  filling  a  larger  place  in 
his  heart.  The  touch  of  her  hand  thrilled  him  with 
emotion.  Her  lightest  words  were  an  entrancing  mel- 
ody to  his  ear.  Her  noblest  sentiments  found  a  response 
in  his  heart.  In  their  desire  to  help  the  race  their  hearts 
beat  in  loving  unison.  One  grand  and  noble  purpose 
was  giving  tone  and  color  to  their  lives  and  strengthen- 
ing the  bonds  of  affection  between  them. 


OR  SHADOWS  UPLIFTED.  267 


CHAPTER  XXXII.  :l  I    l 

\ 

WOOING   AND   WEDDING. 

Harry's  vacation  had  been  very  pleasant.  Miss  De- 
lany,  with  her  fine  conversational  powers  and  ready 
wit,  had  added  much  to  his  enjoyment.  Robert  had 
given  his  mother  the  pleasantest  room  in  the  house,  and 
in  the  evening  the  family  would  gather  around  her,  tell 
her  the  news  of  the  day,  read  to  her  from  the  Bible,  join 
with  her  in  thanksgiving  for  mercies  received  and  in 
prayer  for  protection  through  the  night,  Harry  was  very 
grateful  to  Dr.  Latimer  for  the  kindly  interest  he  had 
shown  in  accompanying  Miss  Delany  and  himself  to 
places  of  interest  and  amusement.    He  was  grateful,  too, 

that  in  the  city  of   P —   doors  were   open   to  them 

which  were  barred  against  them  in  the  South. 

The  bright,  beautiful  days  of  summer  were  gliding  into 
autumn,  with  its  glorious  wealth  of  foliage,  and  the  time 
was  approaching  for  the  departure  of  Harry  and  Miss 
Delany  to  their  respective  schools,  when  Dr.  Latimer 
received  several  letters  from  North  Carolina,  urging  him 
to  come  South,  as  physicians  were  greatly  needed  there. 

Although  his  practice  was  lucrative  in  the  city  of  P , 

he  resolved  he  would  go  where  his  services  were  most 
needed. 

A  few  evenings  before  he  starte  1  he  called  at  the 
house,  and  made  an  engagement  to  drive  Iola  to  the, 
park. 


268  IOLA  LEROY, 

At  the  time  appointed  he  drove  up  to  the  door  in 
his  fine  equipage.  Iola  stepped  gracefully  in  and  sat 
quietly  by  his  side  to  enjoy  the  loveliness  of  the  scenery 
and  the  gorgeous  grandeur  of  the  setting  sun. 

"  I  expect  to  go  South,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,  as  he  drove 
slowly  along. 

"Ah,  indeed,"  said  Iola,  assuming  an  air  of  interest, 
while  a  shadow  flitted  over  her  face.  "  Where  do  you 
expect  to  pitch  your  tent  ?  " 

"  In  the  city  of  C ,  North  Carolina,"  he  answered. 

"  Oh,  I  wish,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that  you  were  going 
to  Georgia,  where  you  could  take  care  of  that  high- 
spirited  brother  of  mine." 

"  I  suppose  if  he  were  to  hear  you  he  would  laugh, 
and  say  that  he  could  take  care  of  himself.  But  I  know 
a  better  plan  than  that." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Iola,  innocently. 

"  That  you  will  commit  yourself,  instead  of  your 
brother,  to  my  care." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  replied  Iola,  drawing  a  long  breath. 
"  What  would  mamma  say  ?  " 

"  That  she  would  willingly  resign  you,  I  hope." 

"  And  what  would  grandma  and  Uncle  Robert  say?" 
again  asked  Iola. 

"  That  they  would  cheerfully  acquiesce.  Now,  what 
would  I  say  if  they  all  consent  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  modestly  responded  Iola. 

"  Well,"  replied  Dr.  Latimer,  "  I  would  say  : — 

"  Could  deeds  my  love  discover, 
Could  valor  gain  thy  charms, 
To  prove  myself  thy  lover 
I'd  face  a  world  in  arms." 


OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  269 

"And  prove  a  good  soldier,"  added  Iola,  smiling, 
"  when  there  is  no  battle  to  fight." 

"  Iola,  I  am  in  earnest,"  said  Dr.  Latimer,  passion- 
ately. "  In  the  work  to  which  I  am  devoted  every  bur- 
den will  be  lighter,  every  path  smoother,  if  brightened 
and  blessed  with  your  companionship." 

A  sober  expression  swept  over  Iola's  face,  and, 
dropping  her  eyes,  she  said  :  "  I  must  have  time  to 
think." 

Quietly  they  rode  along  the  river  bank  until  Dr. 
Latimer  broke  the  silence  by  saying  : — 

"  Miss  Iola,  I  think  that  you  brood  too  much  over  the 
condition  of  our  people." 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  she  replied,  "  but  they  never  burn  a 
man  in  the  South  that  they  do  not  kindle  a  fire  around 
my  soul." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  replied  Dr.  Latimer,  "  that  you  will 
grow  morbid  and  nervous.  Most  of  our  people  take  life 
easily — why  shouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  "  I  can  see  breakers  ahead 
which  they  do  not." 

"  Oh,  give  yourself  no  uneasiness.  They  will  catch  the 
fret  and  fever  of  the  nineteenth  century  soon  enough. 
I  have  heard  several  of  our  ministers  say  that  it  is  chiefly 
men  of  disreputable  characters  who  are  made  the  sub- 
jects of  violence  and  lynch-law." 

"  Suppose  it  is  so,"  responded  Iola,  feelingly.  "  If 
these  men  believe  in  eternal  punishment  they  ought  to 
feel  a  greater  concern  for  the  wretched  sinner  who  is 
hurried  out  of  time  with  all  his  sins  upon  his  head, 
than  for  the  godly  man  who  passes  through  violence 
to  endless  rest," 


270  IOLA   LEROY, 

"That  is  true;  and  I  am  not  counseling  you  to  be 
selfish ;  but,  Miss  Iola,  had  you  not  better  look  out  for 
yourself  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  Doctor,  I  am  feeling  quite  well." 

"  I  know  it,  but  your  devotion  to  study  and  work  is 
too  intense,"  he  replied. 

"  I  am  preparing  to  teach,  and  must  spend  my  leisure 
time  in  study.  Mr.  Cloten  is  an  excellent  employer, 
and  treats  his  employes  as  if  they  had  hearts  as  well  as 
hands.  But  to  be  an  expert  accountant  is  not  the  best 
use  to  which  I  can  put  my  life." 

"  As  a  teacher  you  will  need  strong  health  and  calm 
nerves.  You  had  better  let  me  prescribe  for  you.  You 
need,"  he  added,  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes, 
"  change  of  air,  change  of  scene,  and  change  of  name." 

"Well,  Doctor,"  said  Iola,  laughing,  "that  is  the 
newest  nostrum  out.  Had  you  not  better  apply  for 
a  patent  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  replied  Dr.  Latimer,  with  affected  gravity,  "you 
know  you  must  have  unlimited  faith  in  your  physician." 

"  So  you  wish  me  to  try  the  faith  cure  ?  "  asked  Iola, 
laughing. 

"  Yes,  faith  in  me,"  responded  Dr.  Latimer,  seriously. 

"  Oh,  here  we  are  at  home ! "  exclaimed  Iola.  "  This 
has  been  a  glorious  evening,  Doctor.  I  am  indebted  to 
you  for  a  great  pleasure.     I  am  extremely  grateful." 

"You  are  perfectly  welcome,"  replied  Dr.  Latimer. 
"  The  pleasure  has  been  mutual,  I  assure  you." 

"  Will  you  not  come  in  ?"  asked  Iola. 

Tying  his  horse,  he  accompanied  Iola  into  the  parlor. 
Seating  himself  near  her,  he  poured  into  her  ears  words 
eloquent  with  love  and  tenderness. 


OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  27 1 

"  Iola,"  he  said,  "  I  am  not  an  adept  in  courtly  phrases. 
I  am  a  plain  man,  who  believes  in  love  and  truth.  In 
asking  you  to  share  my  lot,  I  am  not  inviting  you  to  a 
life  of  ease  and  luxury,  for  year  after  year  I  may  have  to 
struggle  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  but  your  pres- 
ence would  make  my  home  one  of  the  brightest  spots  on 
earth,  and  one  of  the  fairest  types  of  heaven.  Am  I 
presumptuous  in  hoping  that  your  love  will  become  the 
crowning  joy  of  my  life  ?  " 

His  words  were  more  than  a  tender  strain  wooing  her 
to  love  and  happiness,  they  were  a  clarion  call  to  a  life 
of  high  and  holy  worth,  a  call  which  found  a  response 
in  her  heart.  Her  hand  lay  limp  in  his.  She  did  not 
withdraw  it,  but,  raising  her  lustrous  eyes  to  his,  she  softly 
answered:   "Frank,  I  love  you." 

After  he  had  gone,  Iola  sat  by  the  window,  gazing  at 
the  splendid  stars,  her  heart  quietly  throbbing  with  a 
delicious  sense  of  joy  and  love.  She  had  admired  Dr. 
Gresham  and,  had  there  been  no  barrier  in  her  way,  she 
might  have  learned  to  love  him ;  but  Dr.  Latimer  had 
grown  irresistibly  upon  her  heart.  There  were  depths 
in  her  nature  that  Dr.  Gresham  had  never  fathomed; 
aspirations  in  her  soul  with  which  he  had  never  mingled. 
But  as  the  waves  leap  up  to  the  strand,  so  her  soul  went 
out  to  Dr.  Latimer.  Between  their  lives  were  no  imped- 
ing barriers,  no  inclination  impelling  one  way  and  duty 
compelling  another.  Kindred  hopes  and  tastes  had 
knit  their  hearts ;  grand  and  noble  purposes  were  light- 
ing up  their  lives;  and  they  esteemed  it  a  blessed  priv- 
ilege to  stand  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  era  and  labor 
for  those  who  had  passed  from  the  old  oligarchy  of 
slavery  into  the  new  commonwealth  of  freedom. 


?72  IOLA   LEROY, 

On  the  next  evening,  Dr.  Latimer  rang  the  bell  and 
was  answered  by  Harry,  who  ushered  him  into  the  par- 
lor, and  then  came  back  to  the  sitting-room,  saying, 
"  Iola,  Dr.  Latimer  has  called  to  see  you." 

"Has  he?"  answered  Iola,  a  glad  light  coming  into 
her  eyes.     "  Come,  Lucille,  let  us  go  into  the  parlor." 

"  Oh,  no,"  interposed  Harry,  shrugging  his  shoulders 
and  catching  Lucille's  hand.  "He  didn't  ask  for  you. 
When  we  went  to  the  concert  we  were  told  three's  a 
crowd.     And  I  say  one  good  turn  deserves  another." 

"  Oh,  Harry,  you  are  so  full  of  nonsense.  Let  Lucille 
go!"  said  Iola. 

"  Indeed  I  will  not.  I  want  to  have  a  good  time  as 
well  as  you,"  said  Harry. 

"  Oh,  you're  the  most  nonsensical  man  I  know,"  in- 
terposed Miss  Delany.     Yet  she  stayed  with  Harry. 

"  You're  looking  very  bright  and  happy,"  said  Dr. 
Latimer  to  Iola,  as  she  entered. 

"My  ride  in  the  park  was  so  refreshing!  I  enjoyed 
it  so  much !  The  day  was  so  lovely,  the  air  delicious, 
the  birds  sang  so  sweetly,  and  the  sunset  was  so  mag- 
nificent." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it.  Why,  Iola,  your  home  is  so  happy 
your  heart  should  be  as  light  as  a  school-girl's." 

"Doctor,"  she  replied,  "I  must  be  prematurely  old. 
I  have  scarcely  known  what  it  is  to  be  light-hearted 
since  my  father's  death." 

"  I  know  it,  darling,"  he  answered,  seating  himself 
beside  her,  and  drawing  her  to  him.  "  You  have  been 
tried  in  the  fire,  but  are  you  not  better  for  the  crucial 
test  ?  " 

"  Doctor,"  she  replied,  "  as  we  rode  along  yesterday, 


OR   SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  273 

mingling  with  the  sunshine  of  the  present  came  the 
shadows  of  the  past.  I  was  thinking  of  the  bright, 
joyous  days  of  my  girlhood,  when  I  defended  slavery, 
and  of  how  the  cup  that  1  would  have  pressed  to  the 
lips  of  others  was  forced  to  my  own.  Yet,  in  looking 
over  the  mournful  past,  I  would  not  change  the  Iola 
of  then  for  the  Iola  of  now." 

"  Yes,"  responded   Dr.   Latimer,   musingly, 

"'Darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 
We  never  saw  by  day.'  " 

"Oh,  Doctor,  you  cannot  conceive  what  it  must  have 
been  to  be  hurled  from  a  home  of  love  and  light  into 
the  dark  abyss  of  slavery ;  to  be  compelled  to  take  your 
place  among  a  people  you  have  learned  to  look  upon  as 
inferiors  and  social  outcasts ;  to  be  in  the  power  of  men 
whose  presence  would  fill  you  with  horror  and  loathing, 
and  to  know  that  there  is  no  earthly  power  to  protect 
you  from  the  highest  insults  which  brutal  cowardice 
could  shower  upon  you.  I  am  so  glad  that  no  other 
woman  of  my  race  will  suffer  as  I  have  done." 

The  flush  deepened  on  her  face,  a  mournful  splendor 
beamed  from  her  beautiful  eyes,  into  which  the  tears  had 
slowly  gathered. 

"Darling,"  he  said,  his  voice  vibrating  with  mingled 
feelings  of  tenderness  and  resentment,  "you  must  forget 
the  sad  past.  You  are  like  a  tender  lamb  snatched 
from  the  jaws  of  a  hungry  wolf,  but  who  still  needs  pro- 
tecting, loving  care.  But  it  must  have  been  terrible," 
he  added,  in  a  painful  tone. 

"  It  was  indeed  !  For  awhile  I  was  like  one  dazed. 
I  tried  to  pray,  but  the  heavens  seemed  brass  over  my 


274  IOLA    LEROY, 

head.  I  was  wild  with  agony,  and  had  I  not  been 
placed  under  conditions  which  roused  all  the  resistance 
of  my  soul,  I  would  have  lost  my  reason." 

"  Was  it  not  a  mistake  to  have  kept  you  ignorant  of 
your  colored  blood  ?  " 

"  It  Avas  the  great  mistake  of  my  father's  life,  but  dear 
papa  knew  something  of  the  cruel,  crushing  power  of 
caste;  and  he  tried  to  shield  us  from  it." 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  Dr.  Latimer,  thoughtfully,  "in 
trying  to  shield  you  from  pain  he  plunged  you  into 
deeper  suffering." 

"  I  never  blame  him,  because  I  know  he  did  it  for  the 
best.  Had  he  lived  he  would  have  taken  us  to  France, 
where  I  should  have  had  a  life  of  careless  ease  and 
pleasure.  But  now  my  life  has  a  much  grander  signifi- 
cance than  it  would  have  had  under  such  conditions. 
Fearful  as  the  awakening  was,  it  was  better  than  to 
have  slept  through  life." 

"  Best  for  you  and  best  for  me,"  said  Dr.  Latimer. 
"  There  are  souls  that  never  awaken  ;  but  if  they  miss 
the  deepest  pain  they  also  lose  the  highest  joy." 

Dr.  Latimer  went  South,  after  his  engagement,  and 
through  his  medical  skill  and  agreeable  manners  became 
very  successful  in  his  practice.  In  the  following  sum- 
mer, he  built  a  cosy  home  for  the  reception  of  his  bride, 
and  came  North,  where,  with  Harry  and  Miss  Delany 
as  attendants,  he  was  married  to  Iola,  amid  a  pleasant 
gathering  of  friends,  by  Rev.  Carmicle. 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  27$ 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

It  was  late  in  the  summer  when  Dr.  Latimer  and  his 
bride  reached  their  home  in  North  Carolina.  Over  the 
cottage  porch  were  morning-glories  to  greet  the  first 
flushes  of  the  rising  day,  and  roses  and  jasmines  to  distill 
their  fragrance  on  the  evening  air.  Aunt  Linda,  who 
had  been  apprised  of  their  coming,  was  patiently  await- 
ing their  arrival,  and  Uncle  Daniel  was  pleased  to  know 
that  "  dat  sweet  young  lady  who  had  sich  putty  manners 
war  comin'  to  lib  wid  dem." 

As  soon  as  they  arrived,  Aunt  Linda  rushed  up  to  Iola, 
folded  her  in  her  arms,  and  joyfully  exclaimed  :  "  How'dy, 
honey !  Ise  so  glad  you's  come.  I  seed  it  in  a  vision 
dat  somebody  fair  war  comin'  to  help  us.  An'  wen  I  yered 
it  war  you,  I  larffed  and  jist  rolled  ober,  and  larffed  and 
jist  gib  up." 

"  But,  Aunt  Linda,  I  am  not  very  fair,"  replied  Mrs. 
Latimer. 

"Well,  chile,  you's  fair  to  me.  How's  all  yore  folks 
in  de  up  kentry  ?  " 

"All  well.     I  expect  them  down  soon  to  live  here." 

"  What,  Har'yet,  and  Robby,  an'  yer  ma  ?  Oh,  dat  is 
too  good.  I  allers  said  Robby  had  san'  in  his  craw,  and 
war  born  for  good  luck.  He  war  a  mighty  nice  boy. 
Har'yet 's  in  clover  now.  Well,  ebery  dorg  has  its  day, 
and  de  cat  has  Sunday.  I  allers  tole  Har'yet  ter  keep  a 
stiff  upper  lip;  dat  it  war  a  long  road  dat  had  no  turn." 


276  IOLA   LEROY, 

Dr.  Latimer  was  much  gratified  by  the  tender  care 
Aunt  Linda  bestowed  on  Iola. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  let  her  do  nuffin  till  she  gits  seasoned. 
She  looks  as  sweet  as  a  peach.  I  allers  wanted  some 
nice  lady  to  come  down  yere  and  larn  our  gals  some 
sense.  I  can't  read  myself,  but  I  likes  ter  yere  dem  dat 
can." 

"Well,  Aunt  Linda,  I  am  going  to  teach  in  the  Sun- 
day-school, help  in  the  church,  hold  mothers'  meetings 
to  help  these  boys  and  girls  to  grow  up  to  be  good  men 
and  women.  Won't  you  get  a  pair  of  spectacles  and 
learn  to  read  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yer  can't  git  dat  book  froo  my  head,  no  way  you 
fix  it.  I  knows  nuff  to  git  to  hebben,  and  dats  all  I 
wants  to  know."  Aunt  Linda  was  kind  and  obliging, 
but  there  was  one  place  where  she  drew  the  line,  and 
that  was  at  learning  to  read. 

Harry  and  Miss  Delany  accompanied  Iola  as  far  as 
her  new  home,  and  remained  several  days.  The  even- 
ing before  their  departure,  Harry  took  Miss  Delany  a 
drive  of  several  miles  through  the  pine  barrens. 

"  This  thing  is  getting  very  monotonous,"  Harry  broke 
out,  when  they  had  gone  some  distance. 

"Oh,  I  enjoy  it!"  replied  Miss  Delany.  "These 
stately  pines  look  so  grand  and  solemn,  they  remind 
me  of  a  procession  of  hooded  monks." 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  talking  about,  Lucille?" 
asked  Harry,  looking  puzzled. 

"  About  those  pine-trees,"  replied  Miss  Delany,  in  a 
tone  of  surprise. 

"  Pshaw,  I  wasn't  thinking  about  them.  I'm  thinking 
about  Iola  and  Frank." 


OR   SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  277 

"  What  about  them  ?  "  asked  Lucille. 

"Why,  when  I  was  in  P — — ,  Dr.  Latimer  used  to  be 
first-rate  company,  but  now  it  is  nothing  but  what  Iola 
wants,  and  what  Iola  says,  and  what  Iola  likes.  I  don't 
believe  that  there  is  a  subject  I  could  name  to  him,  from 
spinning  a  top  to  circumnavigating  the  globe,  that  he 
wouldn't  somehow  contrive  to  bring  Iola  in.  And  I 
don't  believe  you  could  talk  ten  minutes  to  Iola  on  any 
subject,  from  dressing  a  doll  to  the  latest  discovery  in 
science,  that  she  wouldn't  manage  to  lug  in  Frank." 

"Oh,  you  absurd  creature  !"  responded  Lucille,  "this 
is  their  honeymoon,  and  they  are  deeply  in  love  with 
each  other.     Wait  till  you  get  in  love  with  some  one." 

"  I  am  in  love  now,"  replied  Harry,  with  a  serious  air. 

"With  whom  ?"  asked -Lucille,  archly. 

"  With  you,"  answered  Harry,  trying  to  take  her 
hand. 

"  Oh,  Harry ! "  she  exclaimed,  playfully  resisting. 
"  Don't  be  so  nonsensical !  Don't  you  think  the  bride 
looked  lovely,  with  that  dress  of  spotless  white  and  with 
those  orange  blossoms  in  her  hair  ?  " 

"Yes,  she  did;  that's  a  fact,"  responded  Harry.  "  But, 
Lucille,  I  think  there  is  a  great  deal  of  misplaced  senti- 
ment at  weddings,"  he  added,  more  seriously. 

"  How  so  ? " 

"  Oh,  here  are  a  couple  just  married,  and  who  are  as 
happy  as  happy  can  be ;  and  people  will  crowd  around 
them  wishing  much  joy ;  but  who  thinks  of  wishing  joy 
to  the  forlorn  old  bachelors  and  restless  old  maids  ?  " 

"  Well,  Harry,  if  you  want  people  to  wish  you  much 
happiness,  why  don't  you  do  as  the  doctor  has  done,  get 
yourself  a  wife  ?  " 


278  IOLA   LEROY, 

"  I  will,"  he  replied,  soberly,  "when  you  say  so." 

"  Oh,  Harry,  don't  be  so  absurd." 

"  Indeed  there  isn't  a  bit  of  absurdity  about  what  I 
say.  I  am  in  earnest."  There  was  something  in  the  ex- 
pression of  Harry's  face  and  the  tone  of  his  voice  which 
arrested  the  banter  on  Lucille's  lips. 

"  I  think  it  was  Charles  Lamb,"  replied  Lucille,  "  who 
once  said  that  school-teachers  are  uncomfortable  people, 
and,  Harry,  I  would  not  like  to  make  you  uncomfortable 
by  marrying  you." 

"  You  will  make  me  uncomfortable  by  not  marrying 
me. 

"  But,"  replied  Lucille,  "  your  mother  may  not  prefer 
me  for  a  daughter.  You  know,  Harry,  complexional 
prejudices  are  not  confined  to  white  people." 

"  My  mother,"  replied  Harry,  with  an  air  of  confidence, 
"  is  too  noble  to  indulge  in  such  sentiments." 

"And  Iola,  would  she  be  satisfied  ?" 

"  Why,  it  would  add  to  her  satisfaction.  She  is  not 
one  who  can't  be  white  and  won't  be  black." 

"  Well,  then,"  replied  Lucille,  "  I  will  take  the  ques- 
tion of  your  comfort  into  consideration." 

The  above  promise  was  thoughtfully  remembered  by 
Lucille  till  a  bridal  ring  and  happy  marriage  were  the 
result. 

Soon  after  Iola  had  settled  in  C she  quietly  took 

her  place  in  the  Sunday-school  as  a  teacher,  and  in  the 
church  as  a  helper.  She  was  welcomed  by  the  young 
pastor,  who  found  in  her  a  strong  and  faithful  ally. 
Together  they  planned  meetings  for  the  especial  benefit 
of  mothers  and  children.  When  the  dens  of  vice  are 
spreading  their  snares  for  the  feet  of  the  tempted  and 


OR    SHADOWS    UPLIFTED.  2J() 

inexperienced  her  doors  are  freely  opened  for  the  in- 
struction of  the  children  before  their  feet  have  wandered 
and  gone  far  astray.  She  has  no  carpets  too  fine  for 
the  tread  of  their  little  feet.  She  thinks  it  is  better  to 
have  stains  on  her  carpet  than  stains  on  their  souls 
through  any  neglect  of  hers.  In  lowly  homes  and 
windowless  cabins  her  visits  are  always  welcome.  Little 
children  love  her.  Old  age  turns  to  her  for  comfort, 
young  girls  for  guidance,  and  mothers  for  counsel.  Her 
life  is  full  of  blessedness. 

Doctor  Latimer  by  his  kindness  and  skill  has  won 
the  name  of  the  "Good  Doctor."  But  he  is  more 
than  a  successful  doctor;  he  is  a  true  patriot  and  a 
good  citizen.  Honest,  just,  and  discriminating,  he  en- 
deavors by  precept  and  example  to  instill  into  the 
minds  of  others  sentiments  of  good  citizenship.  He 
is  a  leader  in  every  reform  movement  for  the  benefit  of 
the  community;  but  his  patriotism  is  not  confined  to 
race  lines.  "  The  world  is  his  country,  and  mankind 
his  countrymen."  While  he  abhors  their  deeds  of  vio- 
lence, he  pities  the  short-sighted  and  besotted  men 
who  seem  madly  intent  upon  laying  magazines  of  pow- 
der under  the  cradles  of  unborn  generations.  He  has 
great  faith  in  the  possibilities  of  the  negro,  and  be- 
lieves that,  enlightened  and  Christianized,  he  will  sink 
the  old  animosities  of  slavery  into  the  new  community 
of  interests  arising  from  freedom ;  and  that  his  influence 
upon  the  South  will  be  as  the  influence  of  the  sun 
upon  the  earth.  As  when  the  sun  passes  from  Capri- 
corn to  Cancer,  beauty,  greenness,  and  harmony  spring 
up  in  his  path,  so  he  hopes  that  the  future  career  of 
the  negro  will  be  a  greater  influence  for  freedom  and 


28o  IOLA   LEROY, 

social  advancement  than  it  was  in  the  days  of  yore  for 
slavery  and  its  inferior  civilization. 

Harry  and  Lucille  are  at  the  head  of  a  large  and 
flourishing  school.  Lucille  gives  her  ripening  experi- 
ence to  her  chosen  work,  to  which  she  was  too  devoted 
to  resign.  And  through  the  school  they  are  lifting  up 
the  homes  of  the  people.  Some  have  pitied,  others 
blamed,  Harry  for  casting  his  lot  with  the  colored 
people,  but  he  knows  that  life's  highest  and  best  ad- 
vantages do  not  depend  on  the  color  of  the  skin  or 
texture  of  the  hair.  He  has  his  reward  in  the  im- 
proved condition  of  his  pupils  and  the  superb  man- 
hood and  noble  life  which  he  has  developed  in  his 
much  needed  work. 

Uncle  Daniel  still  lingers  on  the  shores  of  time,  a 
cheery,  lovable  old  man,  loved  and  respected  by  all; 
a  welcome  guest  in  every  home.  Soon  after  Iola's 
marriage,  Robert  sold  out  his  business  and  moved  with 
his  mother  and  sister  to  North  Carolina.     He  bought 

a  large  plantation  near  C ,    which  he  divided  into 

small  homesteads,  and  sold  to  poor  but  thrifty  laborers, 
and  his  heart  has  been  gladdened  by  their  increased 
prosperity  and  progress.  He  has  seen  the  one-roomed 
cabins  change  to  comfortable  cottages,  in  which  clean- 
liness and  order  have  supplanted  the  prolific  causes  of 
disease  and  death.  Kind  and  generous,  he  often  re- 
members Mrs.  Johnson  and  sends  her  timely  aid. 

Marie's  pale,  spiritual  face  still  bears  traces  of  the 
beauty  which  was  her  youthful  dower,  but  its  bloom 
has  been  succeeded  by  an  air  of  sweetness  and  dig- 
nity. Though  frail  in  health,  she  is  always  ready  to 
lend  a  helping  hand  wherever  and  whenever  she  can. 


OR  SHADOWS   UPLIFTED.  28 1 

Grandmother  Johnson  was  glad  to  return  South  and 
spend  the  remnant  of  her  days  with  the  remaining 
friends  of  her  early  life.  Although  feeble,  she  is  in 
full  sympathy  with  her  children  for  the  uplifting  of 
the  race.  Marie  and  her  mother  are  enjoying  their 
aftermath  of  life,  one  by  rendering  to  others  all  the 
service  in  her  power,  while  the  other,  with  her  face 
turned  toward  the  celestial  city,  is 

"  Only  waiting  till  the  angels 
Open  wide  the  mystic  gate." 

The  shadows  have  been  lifted  from  all  their  lives; 
and  peace,  like  bright  dew,  has  descended  upon  their 
paths.  Blessed  themselves,  their  lives  are  a  blessing 
to  others. 


NOTE. 

FROM  threads  of  fact  and  fiction  I  have  woven  a 
story  whose  mission  will  not  be  in  vain  if  it  awaken 
in  the  hearts  of  our  countrymen  a  stronger  sense  of 
justice  and  a  more  Christlike  humanity  in  behalf  of 
those  whom  the  fortunes  of  war  threw,  homeless,  ignor- 
ant and  poor,  upon  the  threshold  of  a  new  era.  Nor 
will  it  be  in  vain  if  it  inspire  the  children  of  those 
upon  whose  brows  God  has  poured  the  chrism  of  that 
new  era  to  determine  that  they  will  embrace  every 
opportunity,  develop  every  faculty,  and  use  every  power 
God  has  given  them  to  rise  in  the  scale  of  character  and 
condition,  and  to  add  their  quota  of  good  citizenship 
to  the  best  welfare  of  the  nation.  There  are  scattered 
among  us  materials  for  mournful  tragedies  and  mirth- 
provoking  comedies,  which  some  hand  may  yet  bring 
into  the  literature  of  the  country,  glowing  with  the 
fervor  of  the  tropics  and  enriched  by  the  luxuriance 
of  the  Orient,  and  thus  add  to  the  solution  of  our  un- 
solved American  problem. 

The  race  has  not  had  very  long  to  straighten  its 
hands  from  the  hoe,  to  grasp  the  pen  and  wield  it  as  a 
power  for  good,  and  to  erect  above  the  ruined  auction- 
block  and  slave-pen  institutions  of  learning,  but 

There  is  light  beyond  the  darkness, 

Joy  beyond  the  present  pain  ; 
There  is  hope  in  God's  great  justice 

And  the  negro's  rising  brain. 
Though  the  morning  seems  to  linger 

O'er  the  hill-tops   far  away, 
Yet  the  shadows  bear  the  promise 

Of  a  brighter  coming  day. 
(282) 


